


Royal Blood

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Cannibalism, Gore, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10071302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: London, 1902.For three hundred years, humans and supernatural creatures have coexisted in British society under the iron fist of a tyrannical king. A rebellion is about to erupt on both sides; the vampires, led by the king's nephew, are rising up to the king's rule, whereas the humans battle in the streets for their own survival. Everyone wants the king's head. And Kyle Broflovski, a vampire still clinging to his human roots, believes that the two races can only succeed if they work together. His only hope is to convince the leader of the vampires, with whom he develops an unhealthy and complicated relationship.





	1. The Fountain From Which You Drink

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Royal Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072124) by [caulaty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caulaty/pseuds/caulaty). 



> **Author's note:** This is not a non-con relationship, even though it may seem like it.

_"This is your real home. Those people, the ones you called father and mother and brother, they no longer exist in your life. This is your family now, boy. This is your home. And you'll come back one day."_

 

It was raining over the castle, the imposing fortress of dark stone that seemed to reach to the heavens when looked at from the bottom. In the light of day, you could see almost two centuries' worth of neglect upon the structure; but it was night. The old layer of paint had peeled away, exposing the bricks underneath. The man crossed the huge suspension bridge that spanned the lake surrounding the fortress, squinting inquisitively as the castle became clearer. The raindrops made little waves upon the mirror of the lake. His hair was dripping wet by now, but the rain didn’t discourage him, it wasn't enough to make him walk faster. The palm of his hand slid over the ropes of the bridge, his grip tightening here and there, though he was unaware this was lightening the agony in his heart. Some of it, at least.

When he reached the other side, all that was left was to cross the courtyard where those statues of fallen angels with extraordinarily detailed wings stood. Oh, the memories of sitting on these very stone benches for hours on end and admiring the spring garden in the middle of the night. How long had it been? Five years already? He couldn't even say. It seemed so much longer than that, a lifetime ago. Even so, he was still in one piece, and his skin had the same youthful glow as it did back then. Time hadn't touched it, nor would it ever again. He still had the same face he'd had at eighteen, when he was first brought to this prison. The same face as when he swore he’d never set foot here again. And now here he was, Kyle Broflovski, knocking on hell's door again.

Ringing the doorbell, to be more specific.

The sound echoed through the castle's corridors. The rain was starting to let up. Almost two minutes went by before Kyle heard the sound of low-heeled shoes coming through the entrance hall, making a steady sound on the marble floor. The huge red door opened with a loud noise upon being unlocked. Kyle was grateful to see the face that appeared before him. The woman's small white hand, pale and thin as always, held the door open, her long red hair tied in a loose bun that was falling apart, probably made in a hurry. She had a lot of hair. Straight hair, long and bright, a few shades lighter red than Kyle's. Her doll lips were half opened, unsmiling. Her brow furrowed quickly. She almost took a step back. Kyle could sense she was fighting the urge to close the door and pretend this never happened. That he wasn't there. Fortunately, Red didn't have the courage. Without asking him anything, sighing tiredly, she let him in.

Nothing had changed. And why would it? The brightness of the room made Kyle squint as he stepped inside the entrance hall. The light was coming from the unnecessarily fancy iron chandelier that hung over the statue in the middle of the room. Hades, sculpted in plaster in the smallest details, his torso naked and a long black skirt sprawling towards the floor like real fabric, his face covered by a helmet with two horns. Imposing. The God of the dead. A corner of Kyle's mouth twitched, not in a smile, but in an expression that was impossible to discern, remembering his last moments in this place. The dark red panels still covered the walls with their golden details, the mirror with the ornate frame still hung in the same place. There were two arcs on either side of the hall as well as the huge staircase, also constructed in excessive baroque details, like all things baroque. Kyle had spent so much time away from this kind of place that, now, the richness of the details in the marble were nothing more than visual pollution. He returned his attention to the woman looking at him with huge brown eyes.

The contrast between the redheaded man and the wealth that surrounded him was obvious. His clothes were tattered and torn, his face and hair were dirty, and he was at least twenty pounds lighter than the last time Red saw him. He didn't belong in this castle. He was wearing his only coat, which was brown and too big for his thin body, its buttons fastened, a filthy white shirt underneath, long, dark pants that hugged his ankles tight, the soles of his loose shoes so thin that his toes had gotten wet. Nothing about his appearance was healthy, his cheeks white as if he hadn’t eaten in years. Despite everything, it hurt Red’s heart.

She had freckles, much more visible than his. Her face was so expressive, unable (or unwilling) to disguise everything that coursed through her: restraint, judgment, anger, relief. She looked at him like she was dealing with a dangerous beast, and Kyle wondered if that was what she saw now.

“Hello, Red,” he said.

She clutched the skirt of her heavy navy blue dress, the bust of which was almost beige in the front, hugging the curve of her waist in a sensual way. But Red’s beauty was hard, eccentric, hard to understand at first glance. Upon hearing his words, she remembered to breathe again.

"Are you here to stay?"

"Is he here?"

"Are you here to stay?" she repeated between her teeth, closing the heavy door with a loud bang.

Kyle licked his lips and looked away, towards the chandelier again, blinking his dry eyes until they were wet again, running both hands through his wet hair. He was getting the floor all wet, the velvet carpet almost brown as he moved about the room. His legs were restless.

Before he could respond, he heard shifting and rustling sounds in the background. Then they noticed the curious eyes that had been watching them for God knows how long, eyes that were everywhere; at the top of the stairs, by the doors at the sides of the room, at the door under the stairs leading to the kitchen.

Vampires have senses sharp enough that they can smell a problem from afar, Kyle wasn’t exactly surprised. All the faces were familiar, people of whom he knew the names and ages, among many other things, because they were his family during… During the time they had to be, he thought. They whispered amongst themselves, none of them directing a word towards him. He could only imagine. He was a deserter, after all. Yet there was something unexpected in their eyes, something beyond judgment and disapproval. There was… fear, Kyle thought. But why would there be fear?

"Shit," someone said. When Kyle turned to where this sound came from, he recognized the pale face of Damien Thorn. His eyes redder than ever, casually leaning on the railing halfway down the stairs, the first few buttons of his black shirt open, his fangs showing. But there was an inquisitive smile on his face he was trying to hide.

Suddenly, without warning, Red grabbed him by the arm. He didn't resist being pulled down the corridor under one of the arcs. She shot one last look of disapproval towards Damien before pulling Kyle more forcibly.

"What was that?" Kyle asked when they entered a small living room with a long table in the middle. There wasn't a lot of space to move. There were two large bookshelves, one full of books, the other, full of artifacts and crystals on display. The curtains were heavy, held back by gold rope at the sides of the window.

Red had closed the door and was still holding the doorknob apprehensively, her back to him. Kyle put his cloth sack on the table. That bag held all his worldly possessions: two shirts, another pair of pants, no underwear, a pair of socks. Only Hades himself was witness to the harsh winters he had survived on the streets of London. If his body were still human, he certainly wouldn't be standing here in this room. He'd discovered that he could walk barefoot in the snow without much of a problem, but there were days where Kyle wished for death itself. Real death. Not this fake death given to him at eighteen.

She breathed deeply, turning towards him, without looking at him. "What do you want here, Kyle?"

"I have to talk to him."

"Are you going to stay?" she asked for the last time, turning around. He was at the other side of the table, next to the large window overlooking the backyard. There was offense in Red's voice, angry and personal offense, as if the answer to this question would determine everything from there on out.

"That depends on your leader, honestly," he replied with a weak and embittered laugh, crossing his arms. "It doesn't seem like deserters are welcomed back."

"If it's up to Gregory, then you'll stay."

He wasn’t so sure. Staring at her suspiciously, he moved his tongue over his fangs inside his mouth. "What makes you think that?"

Red let out a bitter laugh as she sank her nails into the dark green upholstery of one of the chairs, shaking her head like there were a thousand things going on inside of it.

"Where were you?" she asked in an accusatory tone. As she spoke, she moved her head without realizing it, and her bun fell apart a little more each time, until the tie fell loose completely and her long hair fell to her shoulders. She didn't react to this though. "You look like you haven't drank in weeks. I can see the bones in your face. I could get you a decent meal. Don't you want to sit down?"

"No, I… I just want to talk to him."

Red's jaw went rigid. Her pupils were so dilated that her eyes were almost completely black. She seemed restless, confused, tapping her foot on the floor, but the carpet was so soft it absorbed the sound.

"You should get a bath first. You smell like a dog."

"I'm fine, Red, just tell me where he is."

He didn't want to deal with this anymore. But her eyes, which were now outlined with something like compassion or anguish, told him things wouldn't be so easy. Red's lips trembled to conceal something she didn't know how to put into words, and the anticipation from that mixed with the nervousness eating away at Kyle's stomach. He didn't want to be here, he shouldn't be here, and yet even so, there wasn't anywhere else in the world he could be.

"You… knew that boy, didn't you? The one they decapitated in the public square. The human. I was there, it was…" Any trace of irritation had vanished from her face. "Is that why you came back?"

But that was too personal. Too invasive. Kyle grabbed his cloth sack and went around the table to head towards the door. This castle was his home once, he didn't need an escort to get what he came for. However, Red held him back, not in a tight grip, but with a kind, supportive hand on his shoulder.

"I'm really sorry. But Kyle, you can't just…" He turned to face her, a threat implicit in his eyes. "It’s not because you’re a deserter. That’s not why you aren’t welcomed. The problem is the rebellion is reaching its height and we need our leader to have his head on straight. That won't happen if you go talk to him. If he finds out you’re here…"

"What the hell are you talking about, Red?"

"You can't imagine the trail of destruction you left behind when you went away."

He blinked a few times, more uncomfortable than confused, really. She tried to take him by the wrist, but he pulled away from her, cornered now by the statue behind him. Hanging his head, eyes down.

"I know it's not your fault," she went on. "But if you aren’t here to stay, then don't even bother seeing him. No one has the time to pick up the pieces."

"Red, it's been five years."

"I know that seems like a long time to you, but it’s not to him."

Kyle hadn't been a vampire for long enough to realize that time was relative, still clinging to his last attachments to humanity. It was like that for everyone, Red imagined, at least during the first few decades. The idea of "eternity" was too ephemeral to be comprehended, something that existed only in the realm of hyperbole. Red had been transformed seventy years ago, and, even for her, it was still hard to understand. As a vampire, you simply don't get old – not just physically, but mentally too, because in order to truly be old, you have to have the awareness that you're reaching the end, that your body is dying. And so experience comes without weariness, maturity without weakness, everything is within tomorrow's grasp and the weight of it all just keeps on getting heavier. Time stretches out, turns into something malleable.

And for a man like Gregory of Yardale, who had been alive and well for three-hundred and twenty years, who had seen the world change and undergo so many different things, adapting himself to them, five years was nothing. It was yesterday.

But that wasn't what Red was talking about. To her mind, even if three hundred years had passed, it still wouldn't be enough for Gregory to forget the skinny, selfish boy who stood before her. Red liked Kyle. Loved him, even, like one of her own siblings. But that didn't stop her from hating everything he represented to her leader. She could hardly understand how a child such as this could have so much power over a three-hundred year old man.

The truth was, it made sense. It is children who, subconsciously, hold in their hands a potential for life so extraordinary that it drives adults mad. Red would call it a classic protective instinct. 

Kyle's face was determined. He had his arms crossed, his sack against his chest, not moving a muscle. Because there wasn't anything she could say that would convince him to go back. They held eye contact for a few seconds, until the woman took a deep breath and rubbed her face, shaking her head.

"Fine. He's in the study, I'll take you there."

"I know where the study is."

"Yes, but visitors aren't allowed to wander the castle alone,” Red replied with a defiant smile as she opened the door.

* * *

The study was on the third floor. Kyle politely followed Red as if he had never climbed these extravagant staircases, noting how centuries of use had worn the marble steps. They passed a few vampires, none of whom bothered to look away when Kyle looked them directly in the eyes. He felt like an exotic animal in a zoo, Red's words echoing in his head: _"It’s not because you’re a deserter. You can't imagine the trail of destruction you left behind when you went away."_ He didn't know what that meant, exactly. However, he saw in the castle residents' red, black, and brown eyes that Red was telling the truth.

They went down the long, dark corridor, passing huge Renaissance paintings, many with religious themes. Gregory loved that sort of thing. For a while, Kyle just faced Red's white neck – she had put her hair up again, this time more firmly – so that he wouldn’t be tempted to look at the paintings’ vigilant eyes that always seemed to follow him. He never liked this corridor. They passed beneath the ceiling's gilded white arcs. Kyle looked at those too.

When they stopped in front of the door, Red gave him a brief glance that could have meant a thousand things. Compassion, uncertainty, a warning to be careful that could have been for either of them, a plea that he not do this. It was just a glance, it didn't last more than two seconds. Long enough to send chills up Kyle's spine. Not long enough to make him hesitate. She knocked on the door three times.

"Sir?" she called into the silence. Her hand was turning the doorknob before she even waited for a response.

There he was. Standing in front of the massive window, the burgundy curtains open, bathed in the light of the moon. His back to them. His arms behind his back, holding his fist in his hand. Kyle recognized those wide shoulders, the back covered in the finest blue velvet, the jacket with the band at the waist. The golden hair, much longer than the last time they saw each other, nearly touching his shoulders. He already knew. He didn't react immediately, his face still hidden from Kyle's field of vision, staring out the window. There he was. The man Kyle despised most in the world.

"Thank you, Red," he said without moving. "You may leave."

Quickly, without hesitating or giving the redhead another glance, she left them alone. Kyle would've liked to say he didn't feel an intolerable heat burning within him at the idea of being alone with this man, would've liked to say he had courage and conviction at all times, but that would've been a lie. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, stepping into the room, moving away from the door that Red closed when she left. This was one of the biggest rooms in the whole castle. The fire burning in the vast fireplace crackled due to the firewood, the only sound filling the space for an eternity. Or five seconds, Kyle couldn't tell.

There were two steps leading to a small rise where Gregory's desk was, right in front of the window. It was there that he stood, tall and powerful, the master of his own little world. The pattern on the curtains was a gold and maroon baroque design. The orange glow of the fireplace illuminated the left side of Kyle's body as he approached one of the white armchairs, putting his sack down on it, but deciding to stay standing.

When he raised his head, Gregory had turned to face him. Kyle didn't move from where he was, but even so, it was frightening seeing those intensely blue eyes studying him. The blue of his irises was overwhelming, his pupils so small they were barely visible. Kyle dug his fingertips into the back of the armchair, staring at him as if he weren't afraid.

"Hello, Gregory."

Slowly, a smile grew on the lips of the blond vampire standing a few feet away from him. It was so beautiful, that face. A square jaw that was somehow delicate at the same time, a thin, straight nose, his eyebrows and cheekbones of such strong and elegant character. His lips were smooth, the bottom slightly larger, the upper with a well-defined Cupid’s bow, carefully sculpted like everything else. It didn't look like the face of a monster. The thought made Kyle return Gregory’s smile, but not out of happiness; he snorted bitterly, raising his chin a little to see the reaction of the man who transformed him into what he was today.

Gregory had his hair carefully slicked back, only a stubborn strand falling down onto his forehead. His hair was so light it looked almost white, the gold shining only when he came near the light.

"I knew it was you," he said with a sigh that seemed relieved, going down the two steps to approach him. Kyle didn't move. "I picked up your scent the moment you stepped foot inside my castle."

Until they were standing directly in front of each other, neither of them said anything. Kyle still had a hand on the armchair, tilting his head a bit to the side as he looked at him up close, not resisting Gregory's proximity. But every hair on his head stood up and his muscles tightened, there was no hiding it. The expression on his face hardened as well, his brow furrowing and lips parting pensively. Gregory, on the other hand, had nothing but his despicable affection to offer. He brought his cold hand to Kyle’s face, touching him with an intimacy that made Kyle break eye contact for a moment, but he couldn't afford to deny him. Not when he needed him.

"Look at you," Gregory murmured, his face filled with tenderhearted pain. "My God, the things you must have gone through…"

"I'm fine," he said, repeating what he always said, having forgotten a long time ago to worry about the truth. "Gregory." Kyle lifted his thin hand to hold Gregory's arm, feeling the soft texture of his jacket in his palm. "Listen to me" was what the gesture meant. He had prepared himself for this. To come back with his tail behind his legs like a sorry stray dog, coming across as too weak and hungry to hear a "no." Not that that part was a choice. It took all the strength he had to swallow his pride and utter the following words: "I need you."

They left a bitter taste in his mouth, but they worked like a charm. Gregory's pupils dilated immediately, his canines appearing as he smiled with satisfaction. As if he knew this would happen sooner or later. But before Kyle could go on, Gregory moved a few inches away from him and lowered his head to bring his wrist to his mouth, digging his fangs into his skin, scrunching his nose as he did so. Kyle looked at him inquisitively, not understanding what he was doing. Then, the man offered him his bloodied wrist, the hot, thick liquid oozing from his pale skin. Gregory moved his tongue over his bloody lips, facing Kyle expectantly. The smell was sweet and strong, to the point that it made Kyle dizzy, but he held back.

"Drink."

"I don't want to."

Gregory's other hand, gentle as always, touched Kyle's neck, bringing him closer. Before Kyle realized it, he was closing his eyes and accepting the dark blood that continued to flow from Gregory’s wrist, licking it timidly at first, opening his eyes to observe the man who fed him as if he were seeking approval, his green eyes filled with distrust. It was something stronger, something he couldn't control, more instinctual and primitive than his own existence. It was hunger. And, it was his genetic submission that made it so easy for Gregory to persuade him with just a gentle touch on the neck, not violent at all. Sometimes, Kyle preferred that he be violent. Gregory’s methods of control were much more subtle and dangerous. And, despite everything, Kyle found himself digging his fangs into the wound Gregory made to relish that royal blood, the sweetest, most delicious blood that he had tasted in his short life as a vampire. He held Gregory's wrist in his hand, his pupils dilated by the smell and taste of such vitality, sucking sloppily, frenzied, producing a noise that Gregory seemed to love. When his eyes met Gregory’s, he became aware of his brief loss of control and took his mouth away, nodding to say that that was enough.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but there was still blood running down his chin. Gregory smiled at him, taking his chin with his hand, cleaning the blood that dripped down his skin. His nails were long, Kyle noticed. Being this close, Kyle couldn't hide the discomfort in his eyes, which were so transparent they revealed everything he felt. In spite of everything, Gregory knew him very well.

"Good boy," was all he said, indifferent to everything but the face before him. Kyle doubted Gregory would hear anything that came out of his mouth right now. So he moved back, enough so that Gregory would take his hands away.

"You're not going to ask me why I came back?"

"I know why you came back," Gregory replied with a weak laugh, sitting on the Victorian sofa off to the side of the armchair, fixing the sleeves of his jacket. The sofa was a peach color that contrasted with his dark clothing.

Kyle took a deep breath. The time was now. There would be no other.

"I need you to help me kill the king."

Gregory’s blue eyes looked at him with curiosity. He still had his wrist by his mouth, upon which a derisive smile was growing, followed by a laugh that revealed those white, white teeth, now bloody. It was a hearty laugh, sincere, the kind he rarely gave. Kyle licked his lips, looking at his feet for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gregory threw his arms over the back of the sofa and crossed his legs, a smile still planted on his face.

"You want me to kill my uncle?"

"What I want is…" He paused briefly, telling himself to choose his words carefully. To sound less angry. He went over to the sofa where Gregory was sitting, but he didn’t sit down. "What I want is help. That's always been the idea, hasn’t it? To cut the bastard's head off?"

"Then why does it seem like you came here for a favor, Kyle?"

For a few moments, Kyle didn't know what to say. He tightened his jaw and just looked at the arrogant face of the man who held the world in his hands. God, how Kyle hated him.

"Humans are being slaughtered," he said slowly, as if that were enough.

King Balthazar of Yardale II had ruled England for some three hundred years. An iron fist, a gigantic shadow reigning over everything supernatural and human that inhabited the great nation. The eldest brother of Gregory's father, a human man who served in the royal guard his whole life and died in battle. Balthazar was the first vampire king to exist. One of the first people to become a vampire by his own free will, so consumed by the desire to live and reign forever and ever, as an old man. In London, the coexistence of vampires, humans, and other supernatural races was both diverse and tense. The first vampire king established the vampires’ hierarchy over all other races. There were parts of England that were inhabited only by humans, small rural towns and counties, whereas the vampires tended to focus on large cities.

And, on both sides, there was a rebellion to overthrow a tyrant who would never die of old age.

"And what does that have to do with me?" Gregory asked the question that Kyle had expected, resting his hands on his knee.

"Vampires are being killed too. If the rebels keep fighting each other, that man will rule for another five hundred years and nothing will ever change."

Their interests were distinct, of course. Vampires saw the human race as little pets that had their permission to exist among them, but not with the same rights. And although no vampire was satisfied with Balthazar's tyrannical reign, almost all of them wanted another vampire to take over. The humans weren't willing to go centuries under the rule of a new tyrant who wouldn't step down and wouldn't die, unless he was assassinated.

Killing a king was not easy. Killing a vampire king, whose physical strength seemed to only increase over the centuries, seemed impossible.

The man sitting on the antique sofa in front of Kyle was the leader of the rebellion. The one that every vampire wanted as their next supreme leader. For humans, however, he was just the next tyrant waiting his turn. And that was exactly why Kyle, six years ago, looked into his blue eyes and said the words that had haunted Gregory's dreams ever since: _"I'm not following you anymore. You’re not my leader."_

Judging by Gregory's unflinching expression, Kyle would have never known that those two simple lines were like a dagger slicing his organs over the past five years. And, even today, having Kyle back under his roof, the dagger burned in the same place.

Gregory got up from the sofa. Kyle thought he would come near him again, but instead, he walked over to a round table covered in a golden tablecloth that went to the floor. On it, there was a silver tray with a crystal bottle full of thick blood, much redder than the kind Kyle had drunk a few minutes ago. It was human blood. He took a deep breath upon realizing that Gregory could have easily poured him a glass instead of offering him the blood from his own body, but it was clear Gregory wanted to demonstrate that Kyle would still drink from his wrist if he told him to. The older vampire filled a crystal glass to the brim, smelling the liquid before downing half the blood, licking his lips.

"I would have offered you some, but I know you prefer it direct." Gregory turned back around with a weak smile, raising the glass to Kyle before taking another sip. The malice in his tone sent chills down Kyle’s neck. "Were you with him the whole time? With the humans?"

"No."

For a while, neither of them said anything. They lost themselves in a long stretch of eye contact. Kyle just waited for a better answer, trying to quiet the burning pain within him, the desire to scream. Gregory, in turn, looked at him with affectionate curiosity, bordering on compassion.

"My boy," he whispered without realizing it, his heart overwhelmed by a sadness Kyle couldn’t see in his eyes.

"How long are you going to let this go on?! Do you ever leave the castle and see what's going on outside?! People getting decapitated in the public square like it’s the Middle Ages? They're _people,_ Gregory, not dogs." He let himself get carried away, genuinely desperate, feeling like he was coming up against a brick wall here.

"Do you think I agree with that?" His response was in that same annoyingly cool, calm, and collected tone. He twirled the glass distractedly, the blood swirling around. "That's not even the issue. I know exactly what kind of monster my uncle is, nobody wants his head more than I do. But what makes you think the humans want to join forces with us?"

"Gregory, please." Kyle was using what worked: make this man believe it would break his heart to be denied anything. He stepped closer again, acting as if he truly wanted to be near him. Determined, he hesitated for a moment before touching Gregory's chest, gently grasping the fabric of his vest between his fingers. "They don't have a choice, they're dropping like flies. The vampires will follow you to into the depths of hell. If you declare your support, no one will question it."

Gregory didn't move for a few seconds. And in that short span of time, Kyle thought he might agree. Gregory licked his lips, raising his chin a little, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it in a weak smile. He put his glass on the table behind him, placing his free hands firmly upon Kyle's face. For a long time, he said nothing, simply studying every detail of that precious face, that pleading expression. He couldn't help feeling rather proud. Kyle had truly refined his skills at manipulation since last they met. Gregory didn't want to take the satisfaction away from him.

"You hurt me so much," the blond vampire finally whispered after closing his eyes, lowering himself so that his forehead touched Kyle's, at which point Kyle immediately furrowed his brow. Gregory grazed his nose over Kyle's as he caressed his back with his hands.

Anguish built up in Kyle's chest. Anguish, more than anything else, because it felt like this monster was being honest with him. Gregory's whispering voice was so rife with pain, but mixed with something sick, something Kyle didn't really have a word for. He squeezed his eyes shut, disturbed by the weak smile upon Gregory's lips when he whispered such things. He wanted to get away, break this damn spell, this heat that always coiled in his abdomen when Gregory held him like this. As if Kyle still belonged to him.

"Why did you leave me?" Gregory murmured when he opened his eyes, too close to really see him. Kyle didn't even blink.

"Because you weren't the leader I wanted to follow anymore." He held the man’s forearms desperately, digging his short, dirty nails into his skin, moving back a few inches so he could look into those eyes that seemed more like lakes. "Prove that I was wrong, then. That I never should have left."

Gregory laughed with his eyes closed, his fangs scraping his lower lip, shaking his head as if he’d just heard something stupid. When he looked at Kyle again, the expression on his face was serious. From one second to the next, just like that. It was moments like these where Kyle saw traces of Gregory's insanity, but he always pretended that he didn't.

"Gregory…"

Gregory’s long nails dug into Kyle's neck as he held him tightly, quickly pulling him against his chest, blue eyes slightly wide with something that looked a lot like hate. The expression on Kyle's face hadn't changed. He could feel Gregory's body against his like a wall, so tall and strong and powerful, but a wall of flesh that, despite all of Kyle's internal protests, made him weak in the knees. Yet he could still taste this man's blood in his mouth, filling him, making him feel strong and cared for and special. That was the most dangerous thing about being close to the true leader of the vampires, how fast Gregory made you think you needed him. Kyle's mouth was dry, a weak surge of pleasure running from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. But he faced him again with the same intensity, as if Gregory couldn't touch him, despite knowing that the Gregory could smell everything he felt.

"I left your room just as it was," Gregory said in an affectionate, almost pathetic, voice, which was so at odds with the strong grip he had around Kyle's neck. It wasn't enough to hurt him, but the redhead let out a weak noise due to the pressure. "I waited. I waited, because I knew…" He loosened his grasp when he realized what he was doing, dragging his finger's over Kyle's chin to hold him by the jaw, his fingers touching the Kyle’s lips. "I knew you would come back to me."

Then, he let go. With the same precision and agility that he grabbed him before. Suddenly, his hand was gone. Kyle took a few seconds to get his bearings, and that was when Gregory planted a long kiss to his temple.

"I know you're going to behave yourself this time."


	2. House of Stone

Gregory wasn’t lying when he said he left Kyle’s room just as it was before. Everything was exactly the same, as if it had been preserved in a museum. So here he was again, standing in his room, the dark wood door closed to give him some much needed privacy. The walls were covered in peach damask wallpaper, with a baseboard made of the same wood as the door. The curtains were ash-colored, with a simple blue floral pattern. A silver crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The bed was bigger than Kyle remembered, with a fancy white headboard and a recently-changed beige quilt, as well as white pillows with recently-washed pillowcases, all thanks to Gregory. Kyle laughed quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed. His face was illuminated by the antique lamp on the white nightstand.

There was a closet with two doors, its antique copper handles shaped like leaves. There was a key to the closet, but Kyle didn’t know where it was. If he were to open it, he would find all the clothes he left behind when he went away, most of which had been given to him by Gregory. “You don’t need to wear these rags anymore,” he had said to him. “Everything that was yours is still yours.” But Kyle still held onto the cloth sack that contained the few things he really felt were his.

His easel was in the exact same place, right next to the large window. It was there that he noticed something different: on the table next to the easel, there was a box with several bottles of ink that weren’t there when he left. And a small crystal vase holding new brushes, their wooden handles engraved with details at the top. He went over to pick them up, feel them in his hand, run the soft bristles over his palm. They had never been used before, or at least it didn’t seem like it.

The soft knock on the door sent chills down his spine. It surprised him that whoever it was on the other side was waiting for an answer before coming in. Kyle put the brushes down and furrowed his brow slightly, facing the dark wood door.

“Come in,” he said loud enough for the person to hear.

The face that timidly peeked through the crack of the door was an unexpected relief. Kyle exhaled, a human habit he hadn’t lost yet, smiling warmly when the blond boy entered the room. He was a bit shorter, with the soft, round face of a fifteen-year old boy, though he hadn’t been that age in many years. He had ears that stuck out, and his lips were thin, his blond – almost white – hair styled back, his cheeks rosy from having drunk recently. As he opened the door, the expression on his face was serious, docile, but when his cool blue eyes fell onto Kyle, he couldn’t keep a huge grin from spreading across his face.

After closing the door behind him, the boy came over to Kyle with open arms.

“I had to see it to believe it!”

Kyle wasn’t the hugging type. He laughed in soft surprise as Butters embraced him, his skinny arms much stronger than they looked. It took a few seconds for Kyle to bring his arms to Butters’ back, running his hands over the blue-gray jacket and white scarf, which made him look like he really was young boy. For just a few seconds, Kyle let his head rest on Butters’ shoulder. Then, the hug was over. Butters was still holding Kyle’s hands, looking at him as if he were a mirage.

“It’s good to see a friendly face here,” Kyle said with honesty and relief.

Butters’ small eyes looked even smaller when another huge smile spread across his face, raising a hand to Kyle’s face to briefly touch his cheek with his thumb, almost like a grandmother would.

“I was so happy when Red told me.” Finally, he let go of Kyle’s hand. “Is there anything you need, sir?”

“No, Butters, I’m fine.” It was an odd question. Kyle couldn’t imagine what else a person might need in a room like this, especially after five years of sleeping in cardboard boxes, hay, or, when he was lucky, blankets on the floor. “I just want to take a bath and go to bed,” he muttered as he went back over to the bed to touch the soft fabric of the pillow.

“I can help.”

Kyle looked at him over his shoulder, letting out a tense laugh when he saw how hopeful Butters looked. It wasn’t enough to put Kyle at ease though.

“Help?”

“I can wash your hair,” Butters said as if he’d just had a brilliant idea.

Kyle cocked his head, wetting his lips to keep himself from laughing.

“I can wash my own hair, thanks Butters.”

There was a moment of silence as Kyle pulled the quilt down, planning on going to bed as soon as he got out of the tub. He was thrilled at the prospect of sinking into a tub of hot water; he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d taken a bath. When he turned around again, he saw that Butters was still standing in the same place, his arms at his back, watching Kyle as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“What is it?” Kyle asked, sounding almost annoyed this time. He was tired. Getting annoyed with Butters was like getting annoyed with a puppy. Kyle blinked his tired eyes a few times, instantly feeling bad.

“The Master told me to keep you company.”

“‘The Master’?” Kyle repeated in an incredulous tone, shaking his head and making a sound that was a mix of a snort and a sarcastic laugh, then nodding as he fluffed the pillow more aggressively than he intended. “What, he wants you to keep an eye on me?”

Butters licked his upper lip, tapping his foot anxiously. Twice he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Finally, when Kyle completely turned to face him, Butters cleared his throat and bowed his head, quietly squeezing out a response: “He thinks you’re unhappy, sir.”

“Stop calling me that,” Kyle interrupted in a gentle, almost melancholy voice. When he was first brought to the castle, it took him months to get Butters to stop calling him “sir.” Now, that strange distance between them had returned, despite the affection with which the boy still gazed at him. Butters looked at him for a few minutes before nodding.

“He thinks you’re unhappy and doesn’t… He doesn’t want _you_ to be alone.”

Although Kyle didn’t understand why at first, that hurt. It hurt knowing that the closest thing he had to a friend in this place was still under Gregory’s command, even in terms of keeping him company. Gregory was like a huge shadow looming over everything Kyle touched, following him everywhere he went. After five years outside Gregory’s stone walls, outside his domain, Kyle still felt like he was his property. That wasn’t Butters’ fault. Kyle didn’t want to blame him, but he couldn’t hide the miserable tone of his voice.

“You don’t need to do that. He shouldn’t have asked you to do that, Butters. You can go.”

But the boy didn’t move. Only then was Kyle able to get a good look at him, seeing his short trousers and white stockings, an outfit that made him look like a child. Ever since Kyle met Butters, he’d never been able to treat him like the other vampires. Butters didn’t seem to belong in this castle, but at the same time, he was always so devoted and content. Kyle couldn’t understand it.

“Really, I’m fine. You can go.”

“But sir, you seem so sad,” he whispered in a small voice, as if he were afraid of saying something wrong. Butters was too naive to know when to shut up, even when he thought maybe he should.

Kyle smiled. He had really missed him.

“Okay. You can wash my hair.”

* * *

Butters lit the candles in the holders to light up the bathroom. The wallpaper was dark green and gold, with stripes on the bottom and designs on the top, the two patterns separated by a white stripe. Kyle had no shame about undressing in front of Butters, carefully folding his dirty clothes and placing them on the dresser. Then he sank into the water of the porcelain tub, reveling in the feeling of his body surrounded by warmth. As he rested his head on the edge of the tub, he almost forgot Butters was there. Butters took off his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and moved the cushioned chair that was normally by the vanity. There was a small chandelier on the ceiling, but neither of them felt like lighting it.

Butters took a blue glass bottle from the shelf and poured the fragrant liquid into his palm. The cap was silver, with an ornate embossing of tiny flowers and thorns. Kyle dunked his head underwater to get his curly hair wet, using his hands to wipe the excess water from his face. There was a large window in the bathroom, the lace curtains closed.

“Have you drank, sir?” Butters broke the bathroom’s comfortable silence, beginning to massage Kyle’s scalp with the liquid soap. His fingers were a bit pudgy, but soft, such that Kyle’s shoulders relaxed immediately. In response, Kyle sighed deeply before nodding. He was so exhausted, he felt like he could sleep forever. It was nice that Butters was doing some of the work for him, strange as it was.

Two minutes passed without either of them saying anything. Butters bit his tongue, concentrating on wrangling the wild red hair that had grown an extraordinary amount since last he saw Kyle. He considered asking him if he wanted a haircut, but then he thought that might be rude, so he decided not to say anything. Meanwhile, Kyle wasn’t thinking about anything, really. Only his head and knees were above water, his mouth slightly open, his mind not quite slipping into drowsiness. While he’d never say so to Butters, it occurred to him how much he’d missed another person’s touch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched with kindness by another person. Only by an animal, whose warm, soft coat helped Kyle survive the harsh winter, whose nose was cold but eyes human. Kyle smiled weakly thinking of him.

“May I ask you something, sir?” Butters suddenly asked. His voice was so delicate it didn’t violently rip Kyle from his semi-conscious state. But when he opened his eyes, he furrowed his brow.

“Stop calling me that.”

Butters took that as a “no” and continued washing Kyle’s hair in silence. Kyle felt like an asshole immediately.

“You can ask me anything you’d like,” Kyle added much more carefully, turning his head a bit, though not enough to see Butters, who was sitting behind him, a deeply pensive look on his face.

“Oh, alright.” He took his hands from Kyle’s head and clasped the rim of the tub, leaning forward, his face very close to Kyle’s shoulder. “I just… I always wondered why you left.”

That wasn’t something that could be answered casually, so Kyle didn’t bother filling the silence with useless words. His green eyes were very wide now, too wide, staring at the translucent layer of foam and dirt that had formed on the surface of the water. He moved his fingers through it distractedly, thinking of all the possible answers to that question.

Was there a right answer? Did he still remember what it was? Of course he did. He took a deep breath, sliding a little deeper under the water, remembering the day he had hurriedly grabbed a handful of clothes when he thought everyone was sleeping, just after a conversation with the “Master” that severed all the fragile threads that still tied him to this place. The only person who saw him leave was Damien, a short yet significant encounter on the staircase. Warm drops of water slid down the tip of Kyle’s nose, joining those that accumulated on his lashes as he relived the horror of his last days here. And hate began coursing through him, as was inevitable; in his mind, he turned to face Butters and asked him if he was happy here in this stone fortress, isolated from the horrors going on outside, if he was just fine with humans being slaughtered in civil wars in the streets, if he enjoyed the blood banquets where naked human cadavers were arranged on the table to be devoured, when they were dead, that is.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Butters quietly excused himself. “I didn’t mean…”

“I left because I saw a group of rebels acting just like the people they want to overthrow,” Kyle replied in a single breath, surprised by how easily the words came out. They didn’t even reveal the anger that broiled in his stomach. “And because… I stopped thinking things would be different once Gregory became king.”

“Really?” the boy asked with genuine curiosity, going back to washing Kyle’s hair, which was now thick with lather. The honesty in his voice weighed on Kyle’s heart, as if Butters had never considered the possibility. Butters thought about it a bit now though, his lips still parted as if he had more to say. “If I might ask… Why do you hate him so much, sir?”

Kyle leaned forward, Butters’ hands falling away as he dunked his head underwater. When he came back up, he ran his fingers through his still soapy hair, twirling a few pieces in his fingers before turning to face Butters. Kyle was sitting now, his nipples peeking out above the water, warm droplets running down his chest. Butters seemed frightened, as if he’d just said something horribly offensive, but this time, he didn’t apologize. Kyle didn’t mean to give him such a mean look, because his anger wasn’t directed towards Butters. Quickly, the boy rushed to grab the porcelain container that was on the shelf, holding it by its small handle as he filled it with water before carefully dumping it over Kyle’s head. There was a picture of a blond girl with a white dog painted on the container.

Kyle leaned back in the tub, sitting more upright now, his neck tense. Staring at his knees, he moved his hand through the soapy water.

“He took away everything I had,” Kyle replied, almost whispering.

“But… But he saved your life. Didn’t he? And…” Butters reached out to grab the sponge that was floating in the tub, squeezing it in his hand to drain the excess water before running it over Kyle’s back. But Kyle was so lost in thought he barely even noticed. He leaned forward a bit, his chest nearly touching his thighs, arms over his knees. Then he brought his hands to his mouth and closed his eyes.

“I’ve always wondered, since it never made any sense to me. I mean, the Master seems to like you a lot.”

“Does he make you call him that?”

“What? W-well, no, but… That’s what he is, isn’t he?”

Kyle snorted. Yes, that was probably true.

“Forgive me, I shouldn’t tell you how to feel,” Butters went on to say, speaking much more confidently now. Kyle was just glad he didn’t call him “sir.” “But I’d really like to know, because… Well, the way I see it, the Master cares about you a whole lot, he took you from that awful place and gave you a home, he took care of you so you wouldn’t be sad or lonely… And I’ve always wondered if you were so mad at him because he did something mean to you… You know, like violated you or forced you to do something you didn’t want to. Because I can’t imagine the Master doing something like that.”

Butters’ innocent word choice made Kyle want to laugh, but he refrained from doing so. Although Butters expressed himself rather simply, Kyle knew he wasn’t a fool, like many of the other vampires believed. On the contrary, Butters’ insight was much sharper than those of vampires who thought they knew everything. A person could learn a lot from Butters, if they took the time to listen to what he had to say. Kyle lightly bit his fist as he listened to him, looking at the shapes that had formed in the soapy water.

“Has he ever put his hands on you, sir?” Butters finally asked, sounding worried. “Because that wouldn’t be right. And I’d hate to know that happened, sir.”

Kyle titled his head back and breathed deeply, mindlessly dragging his hand down his wet neck, not even realizing that his thumb slid over the spot where Gregory’s fangs had dug into years ago.

Finally, he realized why Butters was asking him these questions. It wasn’t just to defend his “master”; he was tormented by the idea that, maybe, the man he was so devoted to, whom he had vowed to follow into the depths of hell, might actually be bad. Because Butters was sensitive enough to smell Kyle’s anguish, now more than ever. And Kyle had no hopes of making Butters realize that evil was an abstract concept, because Butters was too wrapped up in vampiric morality to understand the value of human life. That was what this place did to even the kindest souls, Kyle thought.

“There are a lot of ways to violate a person,” Kyle finally replied, his voice gravelly. “You don’t necessarily have to put your hands on them.”

“Is that what he did to you, sir?” Butters squeezed the sponge again. The hem of his sleeve was slightly damp from resting his arms along the rim of the tub. Kyle turned around to face him, now lying on his stomach. His feet and calves were above the calm water, as well as his ass before sinking deeper into the tub. As he wet his lips, he could taste the warm water.

Butters never looked at Kyle for more than a few seconds at a time, always trying to control his penchant to stare. He was so beautiful. Sometimes Kyle’s face seemed to be made of marble, like the statues throughout the castle, but it wasn’t cold like stone. It was warm in a way that vampires rarely were, and his eyes still seemed so human, which warmed Butters’ heart, reminded him of home, a place none of them would ever return to. It made Butters want to follow Kyle, just like how he followed Gregory.

“Yes,” Kyle finally replied with the kind of gentleness one would use when speaking to a child.

“It’s just so hard to imagine. The Master was so sad when you left, sir.” The sponge was resting in his lap now, getting his pants wet, but Butters didn’t seem to mind. He liked water.

Kyle found Butters’ word choice unusual.

“‘Sad’?”

The boy nodded eagerly, his eyes wide as the memory played across his mind.

“Nobody saw him for weeks. He didn’t leave his room, didn’t let anyone in. And I don’t think he slept, either, because I could hear him pacing constantly, all day and night.” Then Butters leaned forward, bringing his face closer to Kyle’s. His huge blue eyes were terrified, and he was whispering as if he were saying something terrible. “Sometimes there were sounds unlike anything I’ve ever heard. I was so worried, I thought he’d never recover. But then he started leaving not just his room, but the castle too, and he wouldn’t come back for days. And when he did…” His voice died in his throat with a sigh, his thin lips clamping shut. Butters shook his head, reprimanding himself. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Tell me,” Kyle replied, his expression unchanging, his eyes narrowed and mouth half-opened, his irises shining in the dim room, propping his arms up on the edge of the tub. He and Butters were bathed only in the orange light of the candles.

It wasn’t exactly an order, but the commanding tone of Kyle’s sweet voice was enough to make Butters feel compelled to obey.

“He brought these boys with red hair back with him. All of them got bitten. But none of them survived to be transformed, I don’t think. Master Gregory didn’t want to keep them.”

An uncomfortable burning feeling took hold of Kyle’s throat and stomach, making him want to squeeze his eyes shut. It was guilt. A twisted and inappropriate guilt, but no matter how much Kyle told himself it wasn’t his fault, the guilt persisted. He’d been a vampire for long enough not to be shocked by death itself, as he’d never be able to vanquish the animal need that now pulsed through his veins, the need to feed himself. Over the past five years, after he wasn’t getting blood by the bottle anymore, he’d done things he never would have thought himself capable of, in his old life. Kyle could understand thirst, God, he could understand it better than anyone. But what Butters was telling him was different. It wasn’t death due to thirst, due to necessity. That was normal. But this, Kyle couldn’t understand. Couldn’t forgive.

He thought about asking Butters if this was enough to make him see Gregory’s true colors, but it would have been useless. Because he could smell Butters’ compassion for Gregory. The tremendous pain in those blue eyes was for his Master.

“He’s a monster,” Kyle murmured, more so to himself than to Butters.

“Well, I don’t… I don’t know, sir, I don’t think he was in his right mind. He really loved you, sir.”

“He didn’t love me, Butters. He doesn’t _love_ _me._ ” Kyle paused, tense, sighing in irritation. “He isn’t capable of loving anyone. What he loves is having toys, and that’s all I was to him. That’s all I’m ever going to be to him.”

Butters didn’t think that was true, but he wasn’t about to argue. His blond hair fell in front of his eyes, his sharp fangs appearing each time he opened his mouth as he tried to find the right words.

“But if you’re so unhappy here, then sir… why did you come back?”

The question seemed to surprise Kyle. He dunked his head underwater one more time, then turned around to lay on his back again, now submerged up to his chin, too deep in the tub for Butters to help wash him.

“Because there are things much worse than my issues with Gregory.”

Butters didn’t ask what those things were. He simply got up, moved his chair over so he’d be by Kyle’s legs, and then began dragging the soft sponge across his skin. Kyle tried to protest, but the boy seemed so terribly upset every time he tried to stop him. It was a surreal luxury for someone who spent the last five years living off live rats, with no home, no bathroom. In the summer, he would take baths in the lakes. He liked to spend his times in more rural, forested areas, away from the cities. He more or less became one of London’s many shadows, camouflaging himself so he wouldn’t be found by anyone he didn’t want to be. At night, he slept in the grass, outside, beneath the stars that dusted the colossal sky. In the winter, he broke into abandoned mansions, buildings that had been closed for centuries, anything that had a roof. He often cut himself on the broken glass, and he never resisted the urge to lick the blood that dripped from his wounds. It was never enough to satisfy his hunger, and it always tasted dirty, wrong.

And now he was here, not even having to wash his own legs. Like the porcelain doll he’d always be in this castle. He missed the smell of grass, of dust, missed the freedom of the streets, missed thinking about everyone he’d left behind as figments of his lonely imagination.

He ran his hands over his head and looked at the ceiling, remembering the feeling of running those brushes across his palms. Butters’ words rang through his head, alongside images of Gregory as the broken man he’d always been, that he still was. That animalistic gleam in his eyes when they spoke earlier, the way Gregory touched his face as if he were afraid he’d disappear again. Gregory had preserved his room like a museum exhibit, bought him new paint supplies, waited for him. That was Kyle’s tiny thread of hope. He’d be able to convince Gregory, he knew, if he could just make him think he cared about him too. Because Gregory was selfish, vain, too drunk with power, too detached from humanity to care. And there was something that Gregory wanted even more than the throne, and that was Kyle Broflovski.

“I’m glad you decided to come back, sir,” Butters told him with a weak smile as he washed his feet.

“Me too, Butters,” Kyle said, a knot in his throat, not knowing if what he said was true or not.


	3. The End of the World and What Lies Beyond It

His green eyes darted between the drawing on the yellow paper and the wall in the backyard, which was completely covered in wild flowers, white and red, and vines that climbed up the bricks, sprawling thickly over the surface. At the center of the wall was an open door that led to a stone path lined by trees. The arc of the door was almost medieval-looking, making Kyle wonder how old it was. He was sitting in the grass in the castle’s backyard, surrounded by flowering shrubs and white statues. There were hardly any trees back here. On the other side of the wall, however, was a forest where Kyle liked to spend time. The other vampires almost never went out for fresh air, making the backyard a rather solitary place. Which was exactly what he was looking for. Everyone else usually spent their time underground. What could be seen from the outside of the imposing fortress hardly conveyed its true size, as the castle extended far below the surface, covering a massive area beneath the city that included tunnels, entire chambers, and halls where the vampires’ nocturnal life truly unfolded.

Kyle didn’t like going down there. He didn’t like what went on down there.

In his sketchbook, he drew the outline of the door using a piece of charcoal, getting black smudges all over his fingers. He sat there hunched over, the sketchbook in his lap, strands of hair occasionally falling into his eyes, brushing them away with the back of his hand.

He heard footsteps in the grass behind him but didn’t need to look to see who it was. With each year that went by, he could feel his body changing a little more; smells became more intense, his hearing sharper, his needs greater. He knew Damien’s scent, which was like something burnt. It was a hot smell, with a soft touch of iron. A dangerous smell, so much so that it always sent a shiver down Kyle’s spine.

It wasn’t long before he was standing at his side, tall as a tower, his arms at his back, an inquisitive smile plastered on his face. Kyle couldn’t remember Damien ever wearing anything but black. Right now, he was wearing a black trench coat that went to his ankles, but the white sleeves of his shirt, which were a little longer than the jacket sleeves, appeared to be perfectly buttoned. Damien’s skin was nearly grey, his lips colorless, but his eyes were redder than blood, as if in compensation. Sometimes, his pupils got so small they looked like a snake’s. There was something oddly charming about Damien, something that made it hard for Kyle to truly despise him. Something about the bastard’s smile made it very clear to you that he wasn’t trustworthy, and yet you still wanted to like him.

He was Gregory’s right hand. His dog, Kyle liked to think, a silent shadow that followed him wherever he went.

It wasn’t dark out yet, but the sun had been hiding behind the clouds all day. It was already past seven, which was when Kyle liked to go out and wander the gardens. He missed the sun, but his body couldn’t tolerate it anymore. It almost blinded him and always irritated his skin, so when the sun was setting and the sky was cloudy, he could go out and get some daylight without suffering. This was the time of day when he started to feel restless. His heart beat faster, and to this day, he didn’t know whether it was a physical sensation or his body creating the illusion of a heartbeat in his chest.

In any case, whether it was real or not, his heart beat harder when he crossed eyes with Damien Thorn. Maybe it was just anguish.

“Can I help you?” Kyle asked, Damien’s shadow looming over him as he just stood there, watching,

Damien’s fangs appeared as an excruciatingly slow smile spread across his lips. Then, his red eyes looked out over the backyard. Kyle went back to drawing in his sketchbook, relieved for the break in eye contact.

“So the cherished son has returned, has he?” Damien said in his usual cold tone, completely void of emotion. “I should have expected as much.”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you.”

Damien laughed, but even his laugh was empty. His arms crossed, his shoes squeaking over the grass, he moved behind Kyle as if he were spying on prey, but discretely, from over three feet away. When Kyle glanced over at him from behind his curls, he saw Damien with his chin in the air and the tip of his tongue appearing out of the corner of his mouth, blocking the view of the backyard.

Kyle dropped his sketchbook harder than he intended.

“What?!” he asked, his voice harsh, wild, disturbed by Damien’s silence, by those red eyes that on him.

But such an aggressive response wasn’t enough to change Damien’s stony expression, with that weak, inquisitive smile still upon his face. The red-eyed vampire looked up at the darkening sky for a few seconds, feeling a single drop of rain hit his forehead. Kyle saw a drop hit the yellowed paper, leaving a dark little dot.

“Did you tell him?” Damien asked.

At first, Kyle had no idea what he was talking about. He dropped the piece of charcoal in his lap and spread his arms out behind him, feeling the grass between his fingers as he leaned back slightly. Those single drops of rain continued to fall, but they could only be felt every once in a while, foretelling the chance of a greater downpour. Damien seemed uneasy all of the sudden.

“Tell him what?” Kyle asked impatiently.

“About the little chat we had before you disappeared.”

Kyle could have guessed. He couldn’t keep a weak laugh from escaping his mouth, nodding slowly in comprehension. Ever since he was turned into a vampire, his memories seemed so much more vivid, as if they’d happened more recently; when he encountered Damien on the stairs, his cloth sack in his arms as he tried to make a hasty exit, Kyle was sure that would be the end for him. Because Damien was Gregory’s adviser, the man who was always at his side, his friend for centuries, his most faithful. The one who spoke for the leader in his absence, who would follow him to the furthest reaches of hell.

Damien was the most rebellious of the rebellious, too ambitious and too smart for his own good, calculating in a way that Kyle couldn’t compete. What saved Kyle that day, what granted him his freedom _despite_ Damien, was the fact that Damien could see beyond his leader’s desires.

 _“You don’t even want me here,”_ Kyle told Damien during that brief encounter, trying to get him to let go of his arm. _“Things will be better without me. You know that.”_

And it was true. Kyle knew Damien didn’t like him. It wasn’t anything personal – it was just that Kyle held too much power over Gregory. More power than Kyle even realized. He was a distraction, an obsession that consumed Gregory day and night, making him lose sight of the things that mattered. And that made Damien’s stomach broil so much that he loosened his grip on Kyle’s arm and let him go. It’d be better for everyone this way.

He didn’t expect this stupid kid to come running back. And now, Damien had a problem on his hands.

“I get it,” Kyle said absently. “You don’t want you _Master_ to find out you let his little pet escape while you sat back and did nothing.”

“Who calls him that?” Damien let out a defensive laugh, crossing his arms.

“I don’t see you denying it.”

“Did you fucking tell him or not?!”

“No.” Kyle tried to focus on drawing again, pretending to study the scenery before him. “It didn’t even occur to me, Damien.”

“Oh, is that so?” Damien crouched down in front of him, much closer than Kyle would have liked. By now though, Kyle had been around vampires enough to know that personal space wasn’t a thing among them. Damien cocked his head to the side and raised his dark eyebrows, his thin hand lowering Kyle’s sketchbook with a frightening gentleness. Kyle looked up at him immediately, his gaze more violent than he intended, squeezing the charcoal between his fingers. “What are you doing here in the first place? Because I’d really like to know if you’re planning on doing something stupid.”

A cold breeze blew over them, announcing the beginning of night. Kyle could smell the rain, though the droplets had died down. For five full seconds, he stared at Damien’s hand, the fury in his face vanishing as it gave way to something Damien couldn’t identify at first. Kyle seemed calm, almost distracted. He stared at Damien’s long, clean fingernails, his gold ring. When he looked up at Damien again, he let out a laugh so weak it was almost inaudible.

“Do you remember the day Craig put his hands on me?” Kyle asked so quietly he was almost whispering. He tilted his head in the direction of the door that led to the forest. “I still remember what tree it was. He said I still smelled like a human, that he was going to give me what I deserved. Do you remember what Gregory did to him when I told him, Damien?”

Truth be told, Craig didn’t really hurt Kyle. It was probably little more than an empty threat, an old vampire thinking he could scare a new one. But that was the day that Craig Tucker lost his right eye. Nobody dared to even look at Kyle the wrong way after that.

“I understand,” Damien replied after a long pause, wetting his lips. “You don’t even want to be with Gregory, but you still need his protection.” Slowly, he took his hand from Kyle’s sketchbook, pointing at him with his index finger, his nail so long it curved. He seemed amused all of the sudden. Intrigued, even. “You know what? No matter how much you try to tell yourself you’re better than us, that you’re just a good little boy who never wanted to be a vampire… Deep down, you’re just like us. Because you tried to disown us and saw what a shithole the world is without Gregory’s shadow protecting you. You missed him, didn’t you?” For the first time, Damien didn’t seem like he was being sarcastic. It didn’t seem like he was trying to provoke Kyle, he was just saying what he felt was true. Nevertheless, there was malice in his smile and in his eyes, malice that only grew as Damien’s mind pieced these things together, his interest now thoroughly piqued. “You missed him when you were out there on your own and realized nobody loves you like he does.”

“Who said I was on my own?”

Damien parted his lips as if he were about to respond, his sharp fangs showing in a snake-like way. The only thing that came out, however, was a hearty laugh of admiration.

“You don’t smell like a human anymore, Broflovski.”

“For God’s sake, Damien, leave the poor boy alone,” a female voice came from the bushes. It frightened Kyle to see Wendy Testaburger approaching them, carrying a large pair of gardening shears; usually, he would’ve sensed someone who was so close much sooner. But Damien’s presence was so intoxicating that it overlaid her scent, such that Kyle hadn’t been able to anticipate her arrival. It might’ve had something to do with the fact that Wendy was quiet as a ghost. Her scent mixed with the flowers’, Kyle noticed once she was standing in front of them. With her free hand, she lifted the hem of her burgundy dress so it wouldn’t touch the wet grass.

Damien got up. Kyle saw that he was as surprised as he was. Now, free from the Damien’s strangling presence, Kyle realized his ears were burning with rage.

“Are you his watchdog, Wends?”

“Get out of here,” was her impatient response. Kyle felt like he was about to be caught in the middle of a fight between two lions, but then, Damien took a symbolic step back. He wasn’t stupid.

“Just some advice, Broflovski,” Damien said. “Don’t think you can walk back in here and act like you own the place. You’re not a queen. Not anymore.” Those were the final words Damien left at Kyle’s feet, so calm they were icy, revealing a hint of rage.

He nodded at Wendy in acknowledgment before leaving. The woman’s eyes remained vigilant, her posture straight as she watched Damien’s silhouette eventually vanish.

“He’s such an arsehole. I can’t for the life of me understand why Gregory holds him in such high regard,” she muttered before looking at Kyle with what seemed like compassion.

Kyle wasn’t about to argue and say he understood very well the ties that bound Damien and Gregory. Instead, he sighed deeply, just relieved that Damien was gone. It had been a stupid farce, but even so, Kyle had struggled not to bare his fangs and grunt like an animal.

Wendy’s presence had a different effect on him. It didn’t soothe him so much as make him feel submissive. The truth was, Wendy was a much stronger vampire than Damien, and Kyle’s body seemed to know it. She was one of the oldest vampires in the castle, older than even Gregory. Her very aura was different, as if she no longer belonged to this world.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, brushing her hair away from her face. “Are you drawing the roses?”

“Yes, so I can paint them later. I didn’t want to bring my easel out here.”

Wendy offered him a smile that reminded him of his mother’s. Sheila Broflovski had died thirteen or so years ago. It wasn’t a death like the one Kyle and Wendy had suffered; it was real death, the kind you don’t come back from. Kyle was grateful his mother had been blessed with a human death.

“You’re very talented.”

He bit the back of his hand, not saying thank you, his eyes glued to the drawing. The rain had stopped, as if Damien had taken it with him.

Wendy sat next to him, at a polite distance, setting the gardening shears down in the grass. During times of war and political strife, she believed in tending the garden, helping life grow, sustaining something. Vampires were sterile in both body and mind. Wendy was pregnant when she was turned into what she was today. Into what she would be for an eternity. The child didn’t survive, of course. It was the result of a night with a sailor who paid a pittance for the night, as did all the men who had touched Wendy in her human life. Red was the one who whispered these obscene secrets into Kyle’s ear, and maybe they weren’t even secrets, but they didn’t seem like something he should know, let alone think about.

When he lived in the castle before, he never went by her. He didn’t even like looking into her cold lilac eyes – Wendy always looked at him as if she could see right through him. There were legends about older vampires developing telekinetic powers or something similar.

“Your name is Kyle, isn’t it?”

He nodded, feeling like a timid child.

“And you were living with the humans, Kyle?”

“What? No… That was a long time ago.”

She was silent for a few moments. Kyle went back to drawing.

“It’s so hard at first, isn’t it? When the people you love are still alive, going on without you. I’ve been like this for almost five hundred years and I still remember what that feels like. But it’ll go away eventually. You’ll see.” She paused. “I imagine you’re worried about your friends. Did they join the resistance?”

Over the next few seconds, Kyle wondered if she really was able to read his thoughts, or if she was just especially sensitive. Then, a third (and more likely) possibility occurred to him: “Did Gregory tell you what I asked him?” Kyle asked carefully, still unsure whether he should trust her or not.

This whole time, he’d been thinking of Stan and Kenny. They had grown up together, behind the tall walls of Saint Cecilia’s Catholic Orphanage, where the three of them first met. Three boys without parents. None of them were ever adopted, because families always wanted younger children. There was some comfort in that though, because that way, at least, they’d always be together. Kyle’s younger brother, however, was adopted by a Swiss family, who had no problem with separating them because “they weren’t real brothers anyway”.

The last time Stan and Kenny saw Kyle was in the public square in London, six years ago, during one of King Balthazar’s public speeches, when the resistance movement was burning as embers beneath the wood, in the shadows, before the civil war broke out in the streets. They were three stupid, young human boys who didn’t understand the world yet, they’d never shot a gun or wielded a sword, but they had a burning will to fight and little to lose besides each other. That was, until the day in the public square, during the King’s speech, when Kyle screamed so loud his lungs hurt: _“We want your fucking head”._

It was the stupidest, craziest thing he’d ever done, and it would follow him like a death sentence for the rest of his life, eventually leading him to this moment now with Wendy. Kyle would never forget the deafening silence before the burst of whistles and applause. He would never forget the terror in Kenny’s eyes as he tried to hold back a smile of pride, and even if five hundred years were to pass, he’d never forget Stan’s grip around his wrist, how it tightened when the guards came to drag him away. Even today, Kyle could still hear Stan’s voice shouting his name.

Gregory was watching all of this from above, but Kyle didn’t know it then.

All that had happened in a different a life, a life in which Kyle didn’t know Gregory of Yardale.

Yes, that was the last time his friends saw him. It wasn’t, however, the last time Kyle saw them.

“He did,” Wendy responded simply. “I found it quite interesting. You know, Kyle, the truth is, I agree with you. We’ll never dethrone the king if we don’t at least form some kind of agreement with the humans. But right now, there are… domestic issues we need to take care of first.” Kyle was surprised by how honest she seemed. He wanted to trust Wendy. Really, he did. She gazed at him warmly, as if she were studying a rare bird. There was compassion in her lilac eyes. Pain, maybe. When Wendy looked at him, she saw a child who was trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. It didn’t matter how strong he was; it still wasn’t right. “You know you’re like a legend around here, right? Gregory wanders around the castle mumbling your name under his breath. It makes people nervous, especially after all that time he spent balmy on the crumpet.”

The was an interesting way to put it, Kyle thought.

“Butters told me a little about that,” he said quietly.

“It scared us. Which isn’t your fault, even though a lot of people think so. The problem is that joining forces with the humans would threaten a delicate balance, one that’s only become more fragile now that you’re back. The vampires don’t want that. They wouldn’t understand, they’d turn against Gregory.”

It was true that there were more radical rebel groups, groups that hunted vampires and put their heads on display as warnings. “Predators must die,” was a phrase Kyle had not heard infrequently in his human life. When he was younger, he felt protected by the radicals, in a way. Back then though, he had no idea that vampires were secretly organizing against the King with the same tenacity. Eventually, he learned that not all vampires were “predators”, since there was also synthetic blood to sustain the general population, but ever since the King became immortal, many vampires felt freed from that synthetic collar. It was no longer a crime to kill out of hunger. Many vampires saw synthetic blood as a sign of weakness, and animal blood was simply considered disgusting. Kyle didn’t think it tasted all that different, really.

In the end, the wall (also symbolic) between the two cultures was so tall and wide that each group just propagated terrible, twisted ideas about the other, despite never having real contact with the opposite group. London, being the capital, was split into sections such that vampires and humans never had to cross paths. There were entire cities dominated only by vampires, but these were in the country’s south, where there was no temptation to suck human blood. The north, on the other hand, more or less belonged to the humans, and always had areas seeped in conflict.

Pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, Kyle thought about how there weren’t many people like him. New vampires were quite rare, seeing as every vampire was responsible for those they transformed. There was a strong group consensus on that; it was forbidden to let one of your own to die of hunger, to not teach them how to hunt, how to navigate vampiric culture, to let them be rejected by the humans with nowhere to go. Thus, the vast majority of vampires were too far removed from their human side to understand people like him.

Vampires didn’t hate humans. They just looked at them the way humans looked at rats, filthy, useless little creatures with no real purpose. Humans, understandably, despised vampires, seeing them as wild beasts that ought to be put down.

Kyle sat on top of that wall, teetering between the two sides, not belonging to either, or anywhere.

In light of Kyle’s silence, Wendy went on: “It’s funny. One day, Gregory came out of his room as if nothing happened. He put on a suit and showed up in the study with a big smile on his face, not a hair on his head out of place. He asked us what we were doing there, Damien and I, as if we hadn’t been running the castle the past three months while he spent all his time tearing his hair out and moaning your name. I even thought you had come back. I could never understand it. It wasn’t gradual, you know? It was… abrupt. One day he was lying in a bathtub full of blood, so listless I thought he was dead, and the next, he was… Fine.”

Kyle scrunched his nose up as if hearing that hurt. His chest felt tight, his throat hot, mouth dry. In his mind, he could clearly see Gregory’s white corpse submerged in black blood in that porcelain bathtub, his arms lying over the rim, his head slightly lowered and his eyes wide open, the blue of his irises the bluest thing in the world. Kyle pressed his palms into his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Wendy asked, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. She was the first person to ask him that since he got back. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me,” he lied.

* * *

The door was big. Big and red. It was a double door with two round, gold doorknobs with floral engravings. Kyle stared at it for two whole minutes, a massive amount of anxiety building up in his chest. His thin fingers squeezed the fabric of his white pants, closing his eyes as if the door would disappear when he opened them again. It didn’t happen though. He didn’t expect to feel so paralyzed at the thought of going into that room again. Gregory’s room. The first part of the castle he knew, and for a good while, the only. It was there that Kyle endured his transformation, behind that red door, imprisoned and protected, completely out of his mind. He would never remember those days that his body was turned inside out, like how a baby forgets the agony of birth. However, he did remember – and much more clearly than he would have liked – waking up in that huge, unfamiliar bed, naked and pressed up against the body of a man he’d only seen once before. And that body was cold, not that Kyle could tell, because his was too. It was the most terrifying moment of his adult life, much more so than being taken away by the guards. It was like waking up from a hundred-year dream and finding out that your life had been stolen from you. His mouth was smeared with hot blood and he knew there was something seriously wrong with his body, but he didn’t know what, nor did he know how he got there, he didn’t know who Gregory was nor what he had done to him, but he did know that he hated him.

Gregory’s scent was extremely aggressive, the most sexual, alluring thing Kyle had ever smelled in his short life, and that was the most frightening part. It was so strong it almost made him lightheaded. And that smell was _within Gregory,_ it wasn’t just on his skin, but in his flesh, his hair, emanating from every part of him. Somehow, Kyle knew it wasn’t the sort of thing that would come off even with a thousand baths. From that moment on, Kyle felt that Gregory’s venom was inside him and that they would be connected for as long as they lived. He felt violated in ways he didn’t even think were possible. His muscles were too weak for him to stand, so he crawled out of bed screaming and fell to the floor. Gregory (who was dressed, Kyle noticed) held him by the neck until he calmed down, as if he were a puppy. And Kyle had no choice; not because of the strength of Gregory’s grip, but because of the way he pressed down on a muscle that rendered Kyle’s body completely submissive. Naked, breathless, terrified. It was the most humiliating experience of his life.

It’s true that Gregory didn’t keep him in his room after Kyle regained his senses. Gregory gave him the illusion of his own space, the room where Kyle slept to this day. Breathing deeply, Kyle knocked on the door three times.

Two weeks had passed since he came back, and Gregory, surprisingly, had left him alone. He hadn’t come looking for him since their first meeting, not even once. Which could be a good thing or bad thing. A good thing, because that’s what Kyle wanted in the first place. A bad thing, because it meant Kyle had to take the initiative to go talk to him, otherwise his coming back here wouldn’t mean anything. He remembered what Wendy had said about Gregory’s sudden improvement, as if Kyle had never even existed, and wondered yet again whether he still meant something to him. If the answer was “no”, did it matter? He was overwhelmed by an intense feeling of powerlessness. He didn’t want to think that his ability to do anything was in any way impacted by Gregory’s feelings for him.

“Come in,” came a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

When Kyle pushed open the heavy door, he came across a space untouched by time. There was a parlor before the deeper part of the room, separated by a transparent curtain through which the bed could still be seen. In the parlor, there was a maroon sofa, several shelves of books, a black chandelier, and, spread out over the floor, large cushions draped in silk slipcovers. The dark panels covering the walls were adorned with gold embellishments. But Kyle didn’t look at the chandelier. He didn’t look at the books, nor the shelves, nor the two huge paintings that covered the walls, blocking the only window. What grabbed Kyle’s attention was Gregory sitting on the sofa with all the buttons of his white shirt undone, his blond hair somewhat disheveled, a woman in his lap. Kyle didn’t recognize her. She had dark skin, with slightly wavy, almost-black hair that fell to her shoulders. The top part of her dress was pulled down, exposing her breasts, whereas the skirt was raised up high enough to reveal her thighs, upon one of which Gregory had his hand. Her eyes were terribly green. Kyle averted his gaze and turned away immediately, his hand still on the doorknob. He was going to leave without saying anything, but his legs wouldn’t move.

Gregory’s face was buried in the woman’s long neck, peering at the person at the door out of the corner of his eyes, his gaze indifferent until he saw who it was.

“Kyle.” It was impossible to say whether his voice was lustful, intrigued, or surprised. It didn’t seem derisive. But Kyle wasn’t about to look at him to find out.

“Sorry,” Kyle said, feeling his face getting hot. If he’d drunk recently, he’d be blushing. God, he hated this disgusting place where no one had any shame. It was hell. “I’ll come back some other time.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Kyle could _hear_ the satisfied smile in his voice. Gregory lightly slapped the girl’s thigh. “Jessie was just leaving. Weren’t you, Jessie?”

It was an implicit order, and the girl sighed with irritation but didn’t dare question it. She got up, put the top part of her brown dress back on without buttoning it, and then picked her shoes up off the floor, but didn’t stop to put them on. She shot Kyle a cold look as she walked past him, adjusting her dress, holding her shoes under her arm. Kyle kept his head down and merely glanced at her green eyes. She was a fragrant woman, he noticed. Strands of her hair were stuck to her face with sweat. She left without closing the door.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Kyle said for no real reason. He didn’t actually feel bad.

“Come in.”

Kyle stared at him warily. Gregory got up, his chest and abdomen exposed, the sleeves of his nice shirt rolled up to his elbows. Then he went to pour a glass of blood for Kyle. Feeling nervous all of the sudden, Kyle forgot to breathe – which thankfully wasn’t a problem – as he closed the door, but he managed not to augment his uneasiness, because Gregory could smell everything he felt.

“I must say, I’m rather surprised,” Gregory said as he reached over to hand Kyle the glass. Kyle was sitting on the edge of the sofa, holding the glass, not drinking from it. “Are you comfortable? With the room, I mean. Do you need anything?”

“No, I… That’s what I wanted to talk about, actually.”

Gregory was still standing, looking at Kyle out of the corner of his eye, filling his own glass up to the rim. Silently, he waited for Kyle to go on, offering only a small sound of comprehension, his eyes suddenly shining. Then he brought the glass to his lips, watching Kyle with fascination. Gregory’s pupils were dilated due to the fresh blood, but more than that, due to Kyle’s hot scent. The smell of autumn, of rain and damp earth, of leaves, of freshly-baked cake, of something sweet but not too sweet. Gregory ran his fingers over the space beneath his nose, his gaze fixed on the younger vampire, but Kyle didn’t notice this. He was looking at his knees.

“I didn’t know what would happen when I came back. I had no idea. And then when I did… You gave me my room back, bought me new brushes, turned my friend into my… Servant or something. And on top of all that, you haven’t bothered me, either. You haven’t come looking for me, you haven’t tried to… Take anything from me.” Kyle licked his lips, tempted to drink the thick blood in the crystal glass. “And I need to know what the price of that is, Gregory. I know there’s a price. So please, tell me what it is so I know if I can pay it.”

Gregory let out a weak laugh. His hand was on the table with the crystal bottles, looking relaxed in a way that Kyle had seen few times before. The older vampire nodded slowly, downing the blood in the glass in one long sip. Then he laughed again, licking the blood from his lips, staring at Kyle with eyes rife with affection. Affection? It wasn’t warm affection, it was… Kyle didn’t even know. But being looked at like that made him feel small and stupid.

“I’m serious,” Kyle said, placing his crystal glass by his foot on the floor. “I left. You even told me, _I left you_ , and now this?! So I can just come back here and have you welcome me with open arms, as if nothing ever happened? I have a hard time believing that.”

“Is being here not punishment enough for you?”

Kyle furrowed his brow, suddenly forgetting all the things he could’ve said in response to that simple question. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You know, Little Fox.” Gregory drank all the blood in the glass before proceeding, running his finger across the inside to collect the remaining blood. “Even when I do exactly what you want, you still find ways to get mad at me.” After saying this, Gregory sucked the blood off his finger and put the empty glass on the table. “It makes things hard for me.”

“You don’t know the first thing I want.”

“Oh, really?” Gregory came over to the sofa again. Kyle sat up straight, clenching his fists over his thighs. Standing in front of him, Gregory crossed his arms and smiled with interest. “What do you want then?”

“Lots of things. More than just some paintbrushes and not being disturbed.”

“I’m listening.”

Kyle was quiet for a few seconds, his lips pursed, because, honestly, he didn’t know what to say. He’d spoken on pure impulse. He sat back on the velvet sofa, crossing his legs. Gregory just waited, the most irritating smile plastered on his face.

“I want a horse,” Kyle finally said.

Gregory raised an eyebrow, but otherwise, his expression remained the same.

“You want a horse?”

“Yes. And I want to see the ocean. And I want to visit my mother’s grave too. I want a lot of things.”

“I see,” Gregory replied with a soft laugh, finally sitting down next to Kyle. He looked at him out of the corner of his eye, intrigued, while Kyle waited for what he might do next, his chin held high. Without realizing it, Kyle turned to face Gregory, his right hand on the back of the sofa. “There’s nothing on that list I can’t give you, you know that.”

“Even the horse?”

Gregory shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Kyle could feel the derision between the lines – it was so subtle that someone who didn’t know Gregory as well as he did wouldn’t have noticed it. Kyle moved his legs up onto the sofa so he could face Gregory properly, hesitation in his trembling lips as it dawned on him that he was more comfortable here than he wanted to be.

Maybe that was a good thing. It was what needed to happen.

Leaning forward a bit, Kyle asked in a soft voice: “What do _you_ want, Gregory?”

Gregory’s fangs lightly grazed his lower lip as captivation spread across his face, that face that looked like it was sculpted from cold, lifeless marble. His eyes, on the other hand, were so alive. So blue. So bright. Looking at him up close, you could see the subtle hint of green in his irises, around his black pupils. They weren’t sitting close enough to make Kyle uncomfortable, but they were skirting very close to that territory when Gregory leaned in too, smiling sincerely, holding eye contact as he whispered: “I want _you_.”

From his face and voice, Kyle could tell that Gregory was just playing with him, trying to scare him maybe, something Kyle had anticipated. He nodded slowly, leaning to the side a bit as he gazed at Gregory’s torso, the medallion around his neck, the way the delicate white fabric clung to his body, the scars that Kyle knew were down below. Finally, he took one last look at Gregory’s thighs, covered in the black fabric of his pants, before looking at his face again.

“And I want you to talk to the humans about an agreement,” Kyle said.

“I know what you want,” Gregory replied without hesitation, coolly, as if he’d expected that.

“Don’t you think that’s fair?” Kyle went on. “A trade. I get something I want, you get something you want.”

At last, Kyle managed to get a real response out of Gregory. A small furrow appeared between his blond eyebrows, and his smile faded. Not completely, there was still a twinge of amusement on his lips, but it was far less now, revealing some tension.

“What are you talking about, Kyle?” was probably the first serious thing that Gregory said.

“You can have me.”

Gregory didn’t move a muscle. This was when Kyle started to get nervous. He felt the need to look away, rubbing his fingers together because he didn’t know what to do with his hands, salivating for the blood he’d refused. Nevertheless, he tried to hold his ground. And Gregory was looking at him with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, not a hint of shock or amusement on his face.

“So let me get this straight,” Gregory finally said, crossing his legs, “you’re going to prostitute yourself for a political agreement?”

“Call it whatever you want, I don’t care.”

Something like a laugh tried to escape Gregory’s lips, but it failed. Then, he ran his long fingers over his jaw, seeming more intrigued than anything. It wasn’t long before he inched closer to Kyle, though not close enough for their thighs to touch.

“Alright,” Gregory simply said.

“Alright?”

“Yes.”

Kyle didn’t even blink. If the blood in his veins weren’t dead, it would have frozen right then and there. His hands stopped moving, now lying still on his knees. He immediately averted his gaze, his heart pounding in his ears, his face awash with anxiety. For the next few moments, he didn’t have the courage to look Gregory in the face, his ears pricked for any movement the older vampire might make. And then, it came. That gentle hand tucking the curls behind his ears, those fingertips grazing over his head with such warmth and affection that it left Kyle raw. Then, Gregory let out a weak laugh, shaking his head.

“God, you didn’t think I was serious, did you?” he asked, making Kyle instantly jerk away from him.

“Well how should I know?” Kyle shot back, suddenly annoyed.

“Because that’s not what I want.”

That was what made Kyle look at him again, his eyes wide, though with what, it wasn’t clear. Shame, anger, hostility, hate. Or maybe something else.

“I thought you wanted _me_.”

“I do. Of course I do. But that’s not what you offered.” Gregory wanted to move closer to him again, to graze the back of his hand over that soft cheek, but Kyle was cowering on the edge of sofa like a wounded animal. So instead, he put some more distance between them. “I’m curious whether you proposed such a ridiculous thing knowing I’d never accept, or if… You really believe I’d say yes to something like that.” He laughed a little, knowing that that would probably irritate Kyle even more, but he couldn’t help it. Kyle picked his glass of blood up off the floor and drank it in one gulp as he listened to Gregory. “For God’s sake, Kyle, there are so many things you could have for nothing at all. So many things you can’t even begin to understand. So many things I’d be happy to give you, to put at your feet. But that’s not what you want. I could lock you in my room, give you all the horses in the world, give you my own beating heart”—subconsciously, Gregory put his hand over his chest—“but that still wouldn’t make you want me.”

Kyle didn’t know why he had such a strong urge to throw that damn glass on the floor and make it break into a thousand pieces. But the urge exploded inside him, and then it was as if he didn’t have control over his own hand. Gregory didn’t even flinch at the sound of the crystal breaking, but his eyes did seem kinder all of the sudden.

“I hate you,” Kyle muttered, barely opening his mouth, standing now, leaning in close to Gregory to spit the words out in a slow, guttural fashion before marching to the door, smashing the pieces of crystal with his bare feet. He didn’t feel the cuts on his skin, didn’t notice the trail of blood he left behind, concentrating on just getting to the door.

But then came that hand around his arm, the hand that always came, no matter what, the one that pulled him into the chest of the man who would follow him to the end of the world and what lies beyond it, who would never let him go. Gregory pulled him with such force that Kyle felt like his arm would be torn off as he collided into Gregory’s chest and then pushed him away, but that hand touched his neck in the most delicate fashion. Kyle narrowed his eyes, sucking in a breath through his nose and mouth, feeling like he might cry for the first time in a long time, though he wasn’t really sure why. And he didn’t cry. Not in front of Gregory. When he opened his eyes, he saw the face of an almost desperate man. That was what made him get ahold of himself. Gregory leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Kyle’s, squeezing his eyes shut, his fingers climbing through that curly red hair, the palm of his hand now on Kyle’s neck. His other hand didn’t dare touch him.

“I don’t care,” Gregory murmured. The way he opened his blue eyes scared Kyle, being so close. The two of them were standing on thousands of broken pieces of crystal. “I don’t care if you hate me, I don’t give a rat’s ass,” he whispered as if praying. “I’ll be here.”

Kyle pushed him away again, hard, and this time, Gregory let him go.


	4. Children of the Night

During his third week in the castle, Kyle started seeing a shadow. At first, it was just a dark figure in the corner of his eye when he was drawing or reading The Count of Monte Cristo in the garden, always coming from over in the woods. He would brush off the feeling of uneasiness he had whenever he saw it, at least until he started getting the feeling he was being watched. He looked up from his sketchbook and scanned the area around the trees, looking for the eyes he could always feel on him, but there was no one there. For some reason, that didn’t scare him, it just made him worried.

Over the next few days, Kyle decided to take refuge in the castle library. It was always empty in here, with the exception of a boy named Firkle, who never spoke and was in charge of the place. Of course, he wasn’t really a “boy”; he was actually a century older than Kyle, but he had been transformed when he was ten years old. Firkle’s skin was shockingly white, and he had deep, purpleish bags under his eyes. Kyle didn’t like bumping into him in the solitude of the library; Firkle walked around the place hunched over, and he’d look at Kyle with these huge black eyes, the eyes of a hundred-year-old man who had seen all kinds of horrors. It was disturbing. In any case, going to the library was still worth it. It was the biggest library Kyle had ever seen, much bigger than the one they had in the orphanage, with bookcases so high they went up two or three stories. He could lose himself in there for hours. It wasn’t unusual for him to come across Wendy in the stacks, and though they rarely spoke, they did exchange polite smiles when they saw each other.

Despite the library’s size, it didn’t feel like a public place; it still felt like a house, cozy and warm. Kyle would always remember the time he was curled up on a navy blue armchair near the unlit fireplace. It was spring now, but it was still dark and cold outside. Inside, however, Kyle was warmer and more comfortable than he’d ever been sleeping in those abandoned mansions. On this night in particular, he’d decided to start reading Dracula; it was funny how humans portrayed vampires in books, in this absurd way that was so detached from reality. Nevertheless, there was still some consistency to it. Kyle found it entertaining reading about Jonathon Harker trying to get to Count Dracula’s castle and realizing his carriage was being chased by wolves. The wolves’ howls were like music to the Count’s ears – he affectionately referred to the creatures as “the children of the night,” his loyal hunters that were always ready to follow his orders. Kyle wet his lips slowly, holding the book in his hands as he imagined those massive hounds gliding through the forest as if they were part of it.

Suddenly, he looked up from the book.

Like a flash of lightning, Kyle abruptly closed the book, not even bothering to mark his spot. Dracula could wait.

Kyle bumped into someone he didn’t know just outside the library, but he didn’t stop to apologize. He didn’t like making eye contact with these people. And then he ran. He ran up to the ground floor, then through the huge parlor until he reached the hallway, which he ran through until he got to the tea room (vampires didn’t even drink tea!), and then, he shoved open the heavy double door and went out into the backyard. He ran even faster through the stupidly huge yard before going through the door that led to the forest, nearly out of breath now, his heart pounding. Though he knew he didn’t need to breathe anymore, knew his fatigue was more psychological than anything, it still felt so real. It felt so real he almost forgot he wasn’t human anymore.

Only when he made it to the forest did he stop running. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, the cold air hitting his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling deeply through his mouth before looking around. It was dark, allowing him to see better. Kyle walked around, scanning the area, eyes searching between the trees. The grass beneath his feet made slight squeaking sounds as he moved.

“Christophe?!” he shouted into the darkness.

He waited.

“Are you there?” he shouted again, hearing the distress in his voice, trying to tell himself this was pathetic, hopeless. Even so, he stood there, ears pricked for the smallest chance he might get a response. He listened to the sounds of the night birds made in the trees. When he looked up, he saw the silhouettes of twisted branches and the gigantic moon up in the sky. “Please,” he murmured so quietly not even the birds could hear, feeling more alone than ever. He didn’t know what he was asking for.

 

Three days later, while out in the garden with Butters, the two of them sitting and talking on a stone bench near a statue, Kyle saw the silhouette of a wolf. It was more defined that just a dark shape, since the animal had been standing out in the trees for a while before it was seen. Kyle stood up immediately. Butters looked out into the forest too, but he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“What’s wrong?” Butters asked.

As soon as the wolf had been seen, it ran into the forest. Kyle ran after it. He was too far behind to catch up to it, weighed down by the painful awareness that, even if he hadn’t gone crazy, the animal didn’t want to come by him. Maybe it was because Butters was there. Kyle ran ten yards before he stopped, having completely lost sight of the wolf. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out an irritated sigh. Shit.

“Kyle!” Butters called out from behind him. For a second, Kyle wanted to yell at him. The urge passed when he turned around and saw Butters standing a ways away, looking impossibly young, his face drenched in worry. None of this was Butters’ fault. Kyle tried to keep that in mind as he headed back.

He walked through the yard slowly, his body feeling so heavy now. In his mind, he went over all the reasons why Christophe might be here and why he wouldn’t want to talk to him. What the hell was he doing here? And it was him. Kyle was sure of that. There was no mistaking that huge, hairy form, that almost undetectable way he moved through the trees – Kyle would know it anywhere. Then, a thought occurred to him: if Christophe had been seen, it was because he wanted to be seen.

“Butters,” Kyle called out to him. The boy was rubbing his knuckles together, but he raised his eyebrows attentively when he heard his name. His eyes were wide, but they always were. “I need some meat.”

Butters wasn’t the kind of person who hid his emotions very well. He furrowed his brow and parted his lips, but then immediately neutralized his expression, afraid of coming across as rude.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Meat. It can be raw, I don’t care. Actually, that’d be even better. Do you think you can get some for me?”

“Ah. I don’t… I don’t work in the kitchen, sir, but I can ask. Have you been having some, ah, unusual cravings lately?”

“No,” Kyle replied quietly, looking out into the silent trees of the forest. There was pain in his eyes. Longing, maybe. “I’d really appreciate it if you could do that for me.”

* * *

The kitchen operated the same way it would if humans lived in the castle. Good food was one of Kyle’s few comforts when he was first transformed; although vampires didn’t need to eat solid food, many of them continued to do so for the same reason they still breathed: because it was pleasurable. Butters had little issue getting ahold of the two lamb legs he was now carrying in a sack under his arm. That is, because the head chef, Trent Boyett, didn’t see him take them. Butters was afraid of him, because Trent was one of the oldest vampires he knew and he always had that huge cleaver in his hand.

Twice, Butters knocked on the door to Kyle’s room, and when he answered, he showed him the raw meat, smiling with pride. Kyle felt like hugging him, but decided against it. The first thing he did was ask, “That’s not human meat, is it?”

“What? Ah. No, sir, it’s lamb.”

There were rumors about vampires in South America who supposedly ate their victims’ organs. Kyle would have liked to say he’d never do something like that, but the truth was, all his rationality went out the window around the scent of fresh blood. It wasn’t a common practice in Europe. Pushing these thoughts out of his mind, Kyle took the sack from Butters. There was a bloodstain developing on the bottom of the sack. It made his head feel fuzzy.

“Thank you, Butters.”

“May I ask what you plan to do with that, sir?” Butters asked in a timid, curious voice.

Part of Kyle wished he could tell him. Butters was so kind, so loyal, and just being around him made Kyle feel better, maybe because Butters was one of the few vampires who seemed to have never lost his warmth. Kyle wanted to trust him, because in his heart he knew that Butters would never do anything to hurt him. But as much as Kyle wanted to tell Butters, the words just wouldn’t come out. Because Christophe was, for a long time, the only person – the only _being_ – that Kyle had to talk to. It wasn’t a relationship of many words. Talking about him was like talking about a mirage, something Kyle never knew was real or not. Even now, Christophe seemed like he’d been a dream. The same was true of Kenny and Stan, the people Kyle had loved most in life, who he continued to love in death.

“Alright,” Butters gently interrupted Kyle’s thoughts, able to see on Kyle’s face everything he didn’t want to say. Butters smiled. Kyle tried to smile back, but he only managed to turn the corner of his mouth up a little. “I’m so glad I could help, sir.”

Part of Kyle wanted to hug him. God, it had been so long since he’d hugged someone. But he didn’t move a muscle as the boy quickly bowed before leaving.

 

In the forest, Kyle left the two pieces of raw meat at the foot of a tree with thick roots, roots so thick they protruded from the earth. He glanced around, looking for a shadow or figure or anything that would tell him he wasn’t alone, but he saw nothing.

He came back the next night. The meat was still there. Kyle rammed his fist into the tree.

Over a hundred yards away, the wolf was watching him. His dark coat blended into the night, his hazel eyes shining like a human’s. Kyle didn’t see him that night.

 

He wasn’t able to sleep during the day. He tossed and turned, listening to the hard rain falling outside. Once in a while, thunder stormed in the sky. Maybe Christophe hadn’t showed up again, or maybe… Maybe he didn’t like that kind of meat. All day, Kyle thought of how else he might get Christophe to come by him. It reached the point where he started getting angry at him for making things so hard. That wasn’t surprising though. Christophe never made things easy.

By nightfall, Kyle had made a decision. On his first few days outside Gregory’s castle, Kyle had no idea how to feed himself. So the wolf had hunted small animals for him so he wouldn’t die of starvation. He’d never forget the bitter taste of rat blood, nor how surprisingly sweet possum blood was. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe it was time to return the favor.

 

He didn’t want to involve Butters in this any more than he already had. He had to do this alone. The next evening, when the last vestiges of daylight were orangey in the sky, Kyle went out to hunt for wild berries. Since he didn’t have anything to carry them with, he used the pockets of his gray jacket, which was too big for him, the sleeves covering half his hands. With him, he brought a pocket knife he found in the trash over three years ago, an item that had been extremely useful whilst living on the street. On its wooden handle were gold designs and a Spanish word he didn’t know.

Rays of sunlight penetrated the thick clouds that always hung over London, which hurt Kyle’s eyes, but night was soon to fall. This was the best time of day to catch a rabbit, based on his experience. Kyle went into the deepest part of the woods, his feet crunching over dry leaves and small twigs on the ground. He scanned the forest floor for a good branch to use, not too thin but not too thick, firm yet flexible. In the end, he decided to rip a branch off a tree that looked like it was about to fall, putting his foot up against the trunk so he could pull harder. Doing something like this would’ve been so much harder if he were still human. He was still able to make comparisons like that.

He sat down on the trunk of the fallen tree, legs apart, the branch between them. From his pocket, he took out his pocketknife as well as the berries, setting them down on the tree’s rough bark. He snapped the twigs off the branch one by one until he was left with just the straight branch. Then, he took his pocketknife and used it to sharpen the end of the branch into a point, small splinters of wood falling to the ground. Kyle worked in silence, chewing his lower lip, his eyes narrowed in concentration and his face very close to the end of the branch.

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice said, seemingly out of nowhere.

Kyle was standing in less than a second, his feet slipping over the leaves on the ground, a frightened gasp escaping his mouth before he could even think of another reaction. Gregory was casually standing next to a tree, his hands in the pockets of a lead-colored jacket that went down to his knees, both rows of buttons fastened. In the light of day, he seemed even brighter. He tilted his head to the side and laughed at the way Kyle was holding the branch as if he were about to kill someone with it.

“When the hell did you get here?! I didn’t hear anything!”

“You were concentrating.”

Kyle looked at him contemptuously before lowering the branch and the pocketknife, trying to tell himself he wasn’t in danger. If that were even true. Furrowing his brow, he turned his back to him and sat down on the tree trunk again, trying to regain his focus. Gregory slowly walked around the tree, looking out into the forest before returning his attention to the boy, a subtle smile appearing on his lips as he saw how wild those red curls looked out here in the woods. The color, too, was gorgeous in the last rays of sunlight.

“Your reflexes are slower during the day. You shouldn’t be outside.”

“It’s not daytime anymore,” Kyle absently replied, waving the knife around. “Go away, I’m busy.”

“And with what, exactly?”

“None of your business.”

Gregory raised his eyebrows and nodded as if that were an appropriate response, taking his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms. Kyle went on sharpening the point of the branch as if the older vampire weren’t even there.

“Can you tell me why you’re leaving raw meat out on my property?”

“‘Your property’, pff.” Kyle looked up at him briefly, tightening his grip on the handle of the pocketknife. Now he was far too distracted to keep working. Great. Gregory probably got some sort of sick thrill out of ruining things. “How do you know about that, anyway?”

“None of your business,” Gregory replied, that bastard smile on his face.

Kyle grunted.

“Leave me alone, you’re going to scare all the rabbits away!”

“The… rabbits?” Gregory looked around. For a second, Kyle couldn’t tell if there was derision in Gregory’s voice or not. “So is that why you’re sharpening that branch? To make a lance to hunt rabbits?”

And there was the derision. Kyle was positive. He stopped sharpening the branch, taking it and sticking it into the dirt, the knife still in his hand as he angrily marched over to him. Sometimes he forgot how tall Gregory was. He hated the way Gregory always lowered his head a little to look at him.

“Why are you even here?! Besides to torture me.”

Gregory leaned forward a bit, and with an amused look on his face, he replied: “To see what you’re up to.”

For a few seconds, they just looked at each other. Gregory simply stood there, his face calm, patient, whereas Kyle stared back at him harshly, as if that might make Gregory disappear. Raising his chin a little and running his tongue over his lips, Kyle put the knife back in his pocket and crossed his arms, looking pensive.

“If I tell you, will you go away?”

“If you tell me, maybe I’ll even show you how you really catch a rabbit.”

“I don’t need your help.” Kyle took an immediate step back, clearly offended. “I know how to hunt. I wasn’t getting my blood in crystal bottles the past five years, you know.”

For a moment, Kyle didn’t understand what the glimmer in Gregory’s eyes meant. He had expected to see anger, some kind of indignation, but he didn’t see any of that. Rather, Gregory was looking at him with pride. The way his sharp fangs appeared sent chills down Kyle’s spine.

“Fair enough,” Gregory replied, making no additional offers.

Kyle looked at his feet for a while, dragging one across the damp earth, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought. He didn’t want to reveal too much or say anything that Gregory could use against him later.

“I’m looking for my friend,” he said, pleased with this answer.

“Your friend,” Gregory replied in a condescending voice, making Kyle narrow his eyes.

“Yes.” Kyle moved away from him to pull the branch up out of the ground, examining the now dirty point, his back to Gregory. Now it was starting to look like a lance. “I’m getting some food for him. Okay? Happy now?”

“Not really.”

“Fine, what else do you want to know?!” Kyle turned to face him.

“Who’s your friend?”

“He’s… He’s a dog. More or less.” His voice was tight, his gaze falling to the ground as he felt his cheeks getting hot. Gregory was such an idiot, always sticking his nose in places he shouldn’t. Kyle held the branch against his chest and breathed deeply. He didn’t know why it was so embarrassing saying these things out loud. “Well, now you know. So leave me alone, you’re ruining everything.”

Kyle expected Gregory to laugh. To roll his eyes and make some kind of vicious comment, so he was surprised when Gregory seemed very serious all of the sudden. Incredibly serious. He had his hand across his stomach and was rubbing the tip of his thumb over his middle and index fingers. He wasn’t looking at Kyle now; he was looking on the ground or into the trees, though without really seeing them. His lips were still parted, as if he’d forgotten to close them. He didn’t say anything for so long that Kyle started to get nervous.

“What?” Kyle finally asked, taking out his knife again.

Gregory wasn’t careless. He didn’t let a distracted “huh?” escape his mouth like any other person would. Things like that always reminded Kyle that he wasn’t dealing with a normal person. Gregory came closer to him, his face calm, as if nothing had happened. Kyle sat back down on the tree trunk.

“What do you mean, a dog ‘more or less’?” Gregory asked, putting his arms behind his back, sounding simply intrigued, enjoying this. Just the kind of reaction Kyle expected in the first place.

“He’s a wolf. A werewolf, I mean.” He took a deep breath, too sad to keep the melancholy from showing on his face. As he spoke, he didn’t look at Gregory. Before speaking again, he paused. “I could care less if you don’t understand, but I need… I need to talk to him. Or just… I don’t know, just see him.” He went back to running the knife over the surface of the branch to smooth it down. What he said next came out as a strangled whisper, and Gregory only heard it because his hearing was so extraordinary. “I don’t have anyone anymore.”

Gregory wanted to say that wasn’t true, but he didn’t. There was nothing he could say, though perhaps he could’ve tried harder to think of something. So he just stood there, his hands in his pockets, the cold air hitting his face, brow slightly furrowed in an expression of what almost looked like pain, but not quite. He looked out over the horizon, squinting to protect his eyes from the light of the setting sun. The only sound that filled the forest clearing was Kyle’s knife scrapping away at the branch.

“He did a lot for me,” Kyle went on to say. “I don’t even know if I’d still be alive if it weren’t for him.”

“Then I suppose I ought to be grateful to your friend too,” Gregory replied. Kyle furrowed his brow, shooting a tense glance at him from behind his curls. Gregory smiled weakly. “Well. I think I saw some rabbit droppings over there.” He pointed with his long index finger.

And then, without another word, Gregory turned around and headed back towards the castle, leaving Kyle alone with his thoughts. For some reason, the solitude was depressing.

He had met Christophe DeLorne on his first month on the street after leaving the castle. They met in an abandoned warehouse of a former toy store that had been closed for years. It was a stormy night, so sleeping outside was simply impossible. Kyle was soaked, starving, and shaking from the cold when he sought shelter in the warehouse; the door was locked, but the window was broken and looked like a safe way to go inside. It was a few minutes before he saw a pair of shining eyes in the blackness of the warehouse, staring at him from between the shelves of a bookcase, his sharp teeth appearing as he let out a low and cautious grunt. The wolf was huge, Kyle could just sense it. His breathing was deep, hot, humid. It was as if Kyle had unwittingly climbed into the den of a wild beast. It was one of the few times in his life when he’d cried out of fear. He wasn’t even aware of the tears streaming down his face when he realized he was trapped, with no way of getting out without going past that monstrous creature. Kyle was on the floor, crawling backwards as the wolf cautiously approached him. He didn’t attack him though. He came so close that Kyle was sure he was going to die, then sniffed his face before moving back. Then the beast went over to the broken window and lay down beneath it. As if he were guarding the entrance.

He had human eyes, but it was a long time before Kyle learned about that side of him.

After he met Christophe, Kyle never went hungry again, at least not cripplingly so. Their bond was not instantaneous, however. It took weeks, months even, before Kyle was able to relax around him. The animal didn’t come near him at first, but he did bring rats, possums, rabbits, and squirrels so Kyle could drink their blood; that was the first sign of trust between them. Christophe wasn’t with him all the time, but he always seemed to be lurking in the shadows, appearing at the most convenient times. Kyle was convinced he was following him and he had no idea why, but it was nice having his company, in a way.

One day, after waking up from a nap on the uncomfortable floor of an abandoned mansion, Kyle saw a naked man sleeping in the corner where the wolf had been. He screamed in terror. The man woke up immediately and was on his feet in an instant, looking like he was about ready to tear somebody’s throat out with his sharp teeth. He was huge, not just in size, but in the aggressive aura he gave off. Kyle was able to recognize him by his eyes.

On cold nights, the wolf lay near to him to keep him warm with his huge, furry body. The man, however, hardly even looked at him. At least not for the first few months.

Kyle waited for Gregory to disappear from view before getting up with a heavy sigh; he put the berries back in his pocket and walked over to where the older vampire had pointed.

* * *

It was in the early hours of morning. Three, maybe four o’clock. And Gregory was tired. Not physically – in that, his body was surging with vitality. Real vitality, so deep it cut to his very core, nothing like the fleeting vitality of youth. Oh, youth. As hard as he tried, he simply couldn’t remember what it was like being young, so fragile and enthralled with life’s frivolous delicacies. Not that that bothered him. He was constantly wondering what the point of physical immortality was when his mind was always so exhausted. Either way, now wasn’t the time for such philosophical musings.

He was walking through the dark forest, following a trail so subtle it probably couldn’t be picked up on by ordinary vampires, let alone humans, but Gregory could discern it clearly. Big animals always left their tracks. He wet his lips as he looked around, ears pricked for the smallest, most distant sounds, like the rustle of the leaves in the wind or a blackbird landing on a branch. He’d heard the wolf earlier – those robust paws were usually so quiet on the forest floor, but Christophe had realized he was being followed and had broken into a careless dash. It wasn’t difficult for Gregory to catch up to him, approaching so silently and surreptitiously that he couldn’t be heard. He moved through the darkness with ease, the wind wafting his black cloak, his eyes capable of making out the forest’s every silhouette in sordid details. In the distance, he caught glimpses of that hairy tail. He smiled, because sometimes it seemed like Christophe forgot that this was Gregory’s domain, that there was no place for him to run. Now, however, Gregory had lost sight of him.

When he felt his presence, Gregory looked up to see that bipedal figure moving through the trees, no longer trying to hide. Christophe was quiet, but not quiet enough. A soft smile grew on the vampire’s lips just before he turned around.

“You still going after little boys old enough to be your great-grandchildren, Gregory?” he said, his voice rough, unused to talking. Gregory turned around to face the naked man with dark skin, muscles strong as a horse’s, layered dark brown hair, and beastly eyes. “You perverted old man.”

There was no aggression in his voice. Christophe wasn’t smiling, but it didn’t matter. Gregory laughed with familiarity, realizing how much he missed this dirty old dog.

“Great-great grandchildren, actually,” Gregory corrected him. “And… I’d call him many things, Christophe, but ‘little boy’ certainly isn’t one of them.”

As the werewolf walked around him, he kept his eyes fixed on Gregory’s the whole time. Maybe it was a habit he’d learned as an animal, to never turn his back on a larger beast. That was exactly what Gregory was to him, a well-dressed beast in silk-lined suit jackets and leather shoes, but such elegant attire couldn’t fool Christophe; he knew what was under all that. That was why he never relaxed around Gregory. Christophe rarely relaxed, not even when he was alone. Gregory found it amusing that, even as a human, Christophe still behaved like the beast he was. He wasn’t embarrassed about being naked, he was too far detached from society and its standards to feel something as trite as shame. Gregory admired him for that.

Werewolves were solitary creatures. Many debated their existence, considering them a race lost to the tides of evolution, having been unable to adapt. Many had been slaughtered and persecuted in the 17th century, Gregory could still remember. There was something malicious in his smile as he studied this live specimen of a surviving werewolf, a creature of flesh and bone, with hot blood running through his veins. He saw before him a man that looked about forty, which was old for a mortal. Or was it? Gregory couldn’t remember.

“What are you doing here, Christophe?” he finally asked.

The werewolf didn’t respond. Not with words. Gregory saw Christophe’s jaw going rigid, his abdomen tensing, his naked chest heaving in anguish, but the expression on his face didn’t change. Severe, harsh, angry. Like always. He stopped moving.

“He’s home,” Gregory went on to say. There was nothing particularly threatening about his tone or body language, but the coldness he gave off was so pervasive that Christophe sniffed out the intimidation tactic immediately. “He’s safe, contrary to what you may think. He doesn’t need a guard dog anymore.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Right. I wonder how he’d feel if he found out the only reason he had a guard dog in the first place was because I sent him one.”

“Tell him whatever the hell you want.” Christophe put his arm up against a tree, running his hand over his mouth. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“God, no. That’s such a human habit.”

Gregory always said the word ‘human’ as if it were something degrading. Christophe let out a short snort. That was the way he laughed. He stood there for a while, elbow against the tree trunk, staring into the blackness of the woods.

“Are you going to tell?” Christophe finally asked, looking back at Gregory.

“No,” Gregory murmured weakly. There was something melancholy in his weak voice. “That would hurt him too much.”

Gregory and Christophe weren’t friends. They never had been and probably never would be. But in their own twisted way, they had becoming something like friends. Gregory had saved Christophe’s life when he was being hunted by a band of humans; he was so young back then, he couldn’t transform into his wolf form under such high-stress conditions. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Even in his human form, he was hunted for being an aberration, a miserable boy that lived in the little backroom of a fish market, he never spoke, was always dirty, and at night, he transformed into an animal. He made everyone around him uncomfortable. The fishmonger gave him a job and a place to sleep out of the goodness of his heart, even though he didn’t like him very much. The villagers wished he’d just go away.

At any rate, it seemed like that had all happened a thousand years ago. Gregory didn’t spare a single one of their lives. It was three big men with rifles and a hunting dog. Not even the dog made it out of that forest alive. Christophe could clearly remember Gregory’s face in the moonlight, his mouth smeared with red hot blood, his blue eyes like two icy stones. He seemed so calm.

 _“Anyone who hurts a child doesn’t deserve to live”_ , were the first words to leave Gregory’s mouth.

Over the next thirty five years, Christophe had many opportunities to see Gregory’s true colors. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But it didn’t scare him, either. Christophe accepted him for who he was. The two of them didn’t lie to each other. The dog in Christophe had made him loyal to this monster. That was why, when Gregory had him brought to the castle to ask him to find the boy with curly red hair that had escaped his clutches, Christophe obeyed.

Every week, he reported to the castle to answer Gregory’s interrogations: if Kyle had drunk, if he was safe, if he’d learned how to kill, if he was sleeping, if he cried. Christophe was always waiting for when Gregory would just tell him to bring Kyle back, but he never did. And Christophe was fine with that.

One day, Christophe stopping coming to the castle. He stopped giving updates, answering questions, doing Gregory’s bidding. Deep down, Gregory knew why. Kyle had won him over. Christophe didn’t want to deceive him anymore. Gregory should’ve expected as much.

The truth, however, wasn’t that simple.

“You have a lot of nerve stepping foot on my turf after what you did,” Gregory said. He didn’t sound cruel.

Christophe shrugged. He had no intention of apologizing for disappearing.

“But now that you’re here,” Gregory went on, coming towards him now, “would you mind telling me _why?_ ”

“Why what?”

“Why you thought disappearing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you all the terrible things that went through my mind.” As Gregory approached Christophe, his voice became graver, deeper, almost skirting the boundaries of control. His eyes shone in the darkness. “I thought he was dead. I thought _you_ were dead.”

“How kind of you to worry.”

Gregory raised his chin a bit, his weary eyes narrowing slightly. He smiled.

“You know why I stopped giving a shit about your ‘updates’?” Christophe leaned forward, moving away from the tree. “Because you’re sick in the head. I could care less that you’re a psychopath, but he’s just a child. He hasn’t been corrupted by your filthy aristocracy of bloodsuckers.”

“There’s nowhere safer for him than here,” Gregory calmly replied, seeing the way Christophe’s breathing shifted. Now the malicious smile on Gregory’s lips was gone. He almost seemed worried. “I would never hurt him. You know that.”

“I know you think that. This…” Christophe gesticulated with his hand. “This obsession of yours, this fear you have of him getting out of your sight, I know you really think that’s love. Because you’re fucked up like that, Gregory.” Christophe’s thick French accent caused him to spit when he put emphasis on words. “Fuck, I don’t doubt for a second you killed his friend because you knew he’d come running back to you.”

If there had been any anger on Gregory’s face, it disappeared completely. There was something markedly unusual about his expression as he looked to the side and furrowed his brow, looking wounded all of the sudden.

“What…? What friend? What are you talking about?” he asked.

For the first time, Christophe let out an actual laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh, nor even a sincere one; it was a bitter one, full of irony.

“He didn’t tell you?” Christophe’s expression was serious all of the sudden, almost pensive. “Good. So he must be thinking the same thing.”

For a few seconds, Gregory looked like a child who’d been slapped. His eyes veered around aimlessly, like the eyes of a man who had lost his mind, until they landed on Christophe again, and everything around him suddenly intensified. Violently, Gregory grabbed the werewolf’s arm and pulled him towards him, rage bubbling in his chest, the expression on his face frighteningly impassive. These things hadn’t bothered Christophe in years. He just stared back at Gregory.

“What friend?” Gregory asked between his teeth, his voice restrained, harsh, a threat implicit in his tone.

Christophe jerked away from Gregory’s icy grip.

“Your bitch uncle cut his friend’s head off in the public square, idiot. Why do you think he came back?”

“Stan?”

“No. The other one, the blond.”

Gregory pursed his lips and took a small step back, eyes filling with a pain that no one in the world could probably distinguish. His expression hardened. For a long time, he said nothing.

“I was with him,” Christophe said in a low voice. “It was…”

“I don’t want to know,” Gregory said, managing to force the words out as he moved away, directionless, nearly staggering. He touched his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. God, he was so tired. “Shit.”

It hurt. It hurt not hearing that from Kyle’s lovely mouth, it hurt that he thought Gregory had something to do with that, it hurt that he’d been suffering in silence. It hurt even more for Gregory to think he’d probably just make things worse if he tried to comfort Kyle. The thought made Gregory clench his fists, one hand falling to his side, the other across his stomach.

“He’s trying to save his friends,” Gregory said out loud, more so to himself than to the werewolf behind him.

“I told him it’d be useless.”

Of course. Because Gregory had much bigger things to worry about than the whims and wants and suffering of just one person, just one vampire who was still too young and impulsive to understand the things that mattered. Gregory was a leader. He had been for as long as he could remember, he existed in this world to follow the path of greatness laid out for him by his uncle. His father, a noble and honorable warrior who never wanted the throne, died when Gregory was maybe five years old. Funny. As the centuries went on, his earliest memories seemed sharper, sweeter, the only things that would be left in the end. He could remember sitting on his uncle’s lap on the throne in the royal palace, the man who had raised him in his human life, the man who had made him immortal so he’d have an heir. Gregory was that heir. Gregory was the man destined to lead the battle that would rip that tyrant from power, the man who Gregory had once loved like a father. Now, he wanted his head. He dreamed, burned for the day he’d show the world Balthazar’s bloody head. Whatever else happened mattered little to his cold, dead heart.

He was the man destined to end the three-hundred-year darkness that was his uncle’s reign. But even so, when he thought of Kyle asking him “please” with those huge green eyes, his face so distraught, it felt like that was the only thing in the world that mattered. Gregory squeezed his eyes shut. He missed breathing. He’d almost forgotten how to sigh, how to alleviate the chaos that roamed within him.

God, if Kyle knew… If Kyle knew how much Gregory wanted to say yes to everything that left those soft lips, to oblige all his irrational requests, to give him the world. To put the stars at his feet, if that was what he wanted. If Kyle could see himself through Gregory’s eyes, could see he had a face that made a man want to start a war. If only he knew, then nothing else would matter. But Kyle didn’t know. And that was what kept Gregory standing, was the one thing that brought his responsibilities to the forefront. His duty lay with his people, with the vampires who followed him, who had pledged their lives to the rebellion. As long as Kyle didn’t know how much Gregory loved him, then everything would be fine. Everything would remain in balance.

Gregory looked over his shoulder at the werewolf and said in a kind voice, “You should go talk to him. It’s really hurting him, you ignoring him.”

Christophe didn’t respond. And as Gregory walked away, he secretly hoped that Christophe would follow his advice. From Christophe, Kyle could get the support he so desperately needed. The support he would never accept from Gregory.


	5. Sir

The meeting room was lit by candles on the walls and the long oak tables. At these three tables, the vampires of the castle were seated, as well as the servants. The room was poorly lit on purpose, creating a comfortable atmosphere for nocturnal creatures, everything bathed in the orange light of the fire.

Gregory’s armchair was at the head of the longest table, the one in the middle. A huge Victorian armchair made of dark wood and white upholstery, where no one else sat. His blue eyes looked gray in the dimness of the room. There he was, his hands folded in front of his face, his fingers laced together, index fingers pointed upwards. Wendy always sat to his left. To his right, Damien always stood; his arms at his back, his black clothes contrasting with his white skin, skin so white it looked like it was made of the same marble as the angel statues that adorned the room.

Vampires were fairly silent creatures. Many of them only breathed when they talked, having abandoned the mortal habit over time. Thus, although there were two hundred people in the room, the silence was overwhelming; it was so tense and absolute it made Kyle’s stomach churn. His breathing seemed so loud and awkward to him that he squeezed his eyes shut to try to suppress it. Every single sound seemed to echo through this civilized cavern. The ceiling, made of stones, was relatively high. God, he hated the underground.

He crossed his legs, compulsively tapping his foot to try to alleviate some of his anxiety. But he stopped when Butters softly placed his hand over his knee under the table. Wordlessly, Butters was saying: “everything’s going to be okay”. Kyle didn’t believe him, but he was always grateful for the little gestures of comfort and support the boy offered him, an endless source of hope. That was what Butters was.

“Very well,” Gregory said, interrupting the excruciating silence, running his long fingers over his jaw as if he were still thinking about what to say. Everyone turned to look at him.

It seemed like Gregory turned into a different person when he sat in that chair, Kyle noticed, or maybe this was just how he usually presented himself to the world. Cool, confident, a Lord looking down upon ants. A prince born and bred to rule, conquer, destroy, achieve greatness. God, Kyle could see why the vampires bowed down to him. It wasn’t because of the royal blood that ran through his veins, it had nothing to do with the divine right of kings. Vampires existed outside of the law, they were rebels by nature, and Gregory had won them over by virtue of his own character. Just looking at him made you want to follow him, because wherever he went, greatness would follow. At least that was the impression Gregory gave off. If he were to tell half these vampires to go jump off a cliff, they’d probably do it.

“I know you’re all concerned, and I know you have questions,” he went on to say. “I’m afraid that… the darkest hour is upon us earlier than expected. It’ll only be a matter of days before the King realizes what we’re doing, if he hasn’t yet already. My uncle can sniff out betrayal. He’ll launch a counterattack sooner or later.”

“Do you think that’ll happen inside the castle, sir?” Pip asked. “The King’s counterattack, I mean.”

Only the older vampires ever dared to question Gregory. They were also the ones who sat closest to him.

“I most certainly do,” Gregory replied. “It’s something we must be prepared for.”

Phillip Pirrup was a 273-year-old vampire with the sweet face of a ten-year-old boy. His yellow-blond hair was cut to his ears like a girl’s, and he dressed like a child from the Victorian era. He gave Kyle the creeps, because looking into his eyes, it was clear that Pip was no child. He was one of Gregory’s closest advisors, a strategist with a cold, calculating mind and one of the bloodthirstiest vampires in the castle. At least that was what Kyle heard whispered throughout the corridors. Pip’s soft-spoken manner put Kyle even more on guard; it was disturbing hearing such things spoken in that sweet, prepubescent voice.

Pip never drank his blood in a glass.

“Maybe he wants a repeat of the Alba Rosa Massacre,” Craig Tucker interrupted. There was a sublime sadism to the way he spoke. He wasn’t sitting near the head of the table, but rather, closer to Kyle, his elbows on the table.

Gregory’s expression hardened all of the sudden. He got up from the chair slowly, his hands splayed over the surface of the table, his eyes narrowed. The corners of his well-defined lips turned upwards, but not in a smile. The tips of his fangs appeared and his nostrils flared slightly, as if he could smell the scent of fresh blood. Kyle leaned over to Butters to ask him what the hell was going on, but he couldn’t get the words out.

Behind Gregory, Damien furrowed his brow and stared at Craig like a lion a zebra.

“Yes, Tucker, that’s something _else_ we must be prepared for.” Although Gregory didn’t raise his voice in the least, it now filled the room with such intensity that it almost made the things on the table shake.

As if something had exploded inside him, Damien suddenly stepped forward. He seemed even more enraged as he spit the words out, his red eyes burning, fangs showing.

“You insolent brat, how dare you…?!”

Yet as soon as Gregory raised his hand, Damien shut up. Without a second’s hesitation. Without Gregory even having to look at him. Damien still had his eyes on Craig though, watching him like a jungle cat as he went back to his spot.

“Now, I’d be the last to defend my uncle’s moral code,” Gregory went on to say, as if no one had interrupted him. “We all know he’s quite capable of killing his own family members. Which is why we’ll go underground as soon as we get the signal. For now, we must act as naturally as possible. Exercise caution, and only leave the castle if strictly necessary. We’ll force him to make the first move, make him think he has the upper hand. In the meantime, prepare yourselves, and make sure to memorize the palace’s escape routes. Once he realizes what’s going on, it’ll be too late.”

“Why the hell are we waiting for him to make the first move?” Craig asked. When Kyle turned to look at him, Craig could feel his eyes on him. He immediately looked over at Kyle, staring at him coldly with his single dark eye. The place where his right eye had been was now a gruesome patch of scar tissue and stitched-up flesh, effectively sealing the socket shut. Craig displayed the scar openly, maybe even proudly, refusing to cover it. A sick smile of acknowledgment spread across his thin lips. Kyle simply averted his gaze and looked back up at Gregory at the head of the table.

“Because, Craig, we’re not animals driven purely by impulsive and instinct,” Gregory calmly replied, raising his eyebrows at Craig as if he were too stupid to understand this. “We’re not werewolves.”

A few vampires laughed, but Gregory’s tone was as serious as ever.

Kyle’s eyes fell upon the dark wooden table. He placed his trembling hands on the surface and squeezed his eyes shut. He sensed Butters leaning towards him, trying to discern the expression on his face in the moment before the boy whispered: “Kyle, are you alright?”

All he needed was some courage. Not a lot, just a little would do. He clenched his jaw and held his breath. It felt like his heart was pounding in his chest, just like how it used to. He felt exposed, consumed by the adrenaline coursing through him. Exposed. So exposed. Amid this den full of animals that may well _not_ be impulsive, these hungry and intelligent creatures, and Kyle was not one of them.

Except he was.

“Well then,” Gregory went on to say, straightening his posture and crossing his arms over his chest, taking a good look at the familiar faces around him. “That leaves us with the issue of improving the…”

Distantly, Kyle could hear Gregory talking, but by now, his mind was reeling so much he couldn’t make out the words anymore. “Do it, you coward”, he berated himself. Suddenly, impulsively, he ran his fingers through his hair and got up from his chair. But he just stood there, not doing or saying anything. The words Gregory was about to say died in his mouth, yet his lips remained parted for a few seconds. He looked at Kyle with sincere curiosity, as if he had only now noticed he was there.

He waited for Kyle to say something, but as if Kyle were waiting for permission to speak – which was very unlike him – he just stared back at Gregory, eyes wide.

“Yes, Kyle?” Gregory said in a soft voice. There wasn’t a pair of eyes in that room that wasn’t looking at Kyle.

For a few seconds, Kyle forgot how to speak. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closing his eyes as he inhaled and exhaled, his lungs filling with air, which calmed him down a little.

“I have a question.” He paused briefly, looking as nervous as he felt. “Sir.”

From the look on Gregory’s face, it was clear he wanted to laugh, but he held it in. He wet his lips, nodding as if to say, “Go ahead”. Right behind him, Damien extended his neck so as to see better, a furrow between his black eyebrows. Wendy smiled discreetly.

“The Royal Guard is comprised solely of humans. Correct?”

“Yes, only humans serve in the royal palace.”

Balthazar didn’t like competition, Gregory would have liked to add. Not to mention that humans were easier to control on a short leash, being subservient and obedient to all the King’s decrees. He had considerably hampered transformation laws, so as to keep the population of vampires low. 

“Alright. So it’d be safe to say that those men don’t fight for him out of a sense of loyalty, correct? They aren’t truly loyal to him – they just obey him out of fear. Would you say that that assessment is correct… _sir?_ ”

“Yes, Kyle,” Gregory calmly replied. Kyle had said the word “sir” with corrosive sarcasm, and now, there was a cautious, amused smile on Gregory’s lips. It soon vanished, however. Gregory tilted his head to the side a bit, studying Kyle. Despite the distance between them, Gregory could see him perfectly. “I would.”

“And what would happen, in your profound and inalienable judgment, if the royal guards in the palace rebelled before the vampires got to the King? Because… Look, Gregory, I don’t know as much everyone else here – I’m just a stupid kid, after all.” This was what happened whenever Kyle opened his mouth. It was one of his few infallible weapons, his ability to articulate himself. Kyle had been a poor, skinny child, and later, a strange-looking orphan who didn’t know how to pack a punch. He had to learn how to defend himself _somehow_. The same was the case here. He tried not to look at the faces staring at him, but he could feel the derision in their silence. Gregory, however, continued watching Kyle with no real expression on his face. “So, what would happen if the humans decided to cut the King’s throat in his sleep? That is, if they took over the palace and decided to go after you next?”

“Are you going to let this little shit talk to you like that?” Craig asked Gregory, standing abruptly as if he were about to go shut Kyle up himself.

“Would you like to lose your other eye, Tucker?” Gregory replied, briefly looking from Kyle to Craig, not a hint of ferocity in his voice. As if it were a sincere question. With that, Craig fell silent; but he didn’t sit back down. Gregory signaled with his hand for Kyle to go on. The gesture meant, “I’m listening”.

Which took Kyle by surprise for a second.

“The truth is, the humans have spent the past five years getting ready for this. Because they know the vampires – that _we_ – are relying on us being stronger than them. But at the end of the day, there just aren’t very _many_ of us.”

“And just how do you know what the humans are doing?” a voice said from over on the right. When Kyle looked over in that direction, however, he couldn’t figure out who it was. All he saw were dozens of cold, white faces, their eyes aggressive, fixed on him.

“Because I saw them! I know where they hide, I know what weapons they use. They want us to underestimate them because that makes us more vulnerable.” And then, looking up at the head of the table again. “I know people on the inside. If we could just _talk_ to them…”

The cavern’s tall ceiling echoed with all kinds of sounds, voices conversing with those closest to them, derisive laughter and worried whispers, the sounds all overlapping. For a moment, Gregory just lowered his head and tiredly massaged his temples. Kyle’s chest was heavy, consumed with anguish.

“Silence,” Gregory said, placing his hand on the table. He didn’t have to yell. Within two or three seconds, the vampires quieted.

“I request permission to speak, Gregory,” Damien said to his Master in a low voice.

“Go ahead.”

“Kyle,” Damien said, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him. “Did you try to approach the humans while you were gone? Did you try to talk to them?”

“No.”

“Of course not. Because you’re not stupid; you know what they’d do to you. You know they’d hunt you down like an animal, because that’s the sort of thing they do.”

“Not all of them!”

“We all know the humans will eventually become a problem, and we’ll deal with that when the time comes. The Royal Guard has pledged their lives to Balthazar, they’re not going to turn against him. That’s the last thing we need right now, to be afraid of humans! As for you, Kyle, it’s high time you decided whose side you’re on. Don’t think for a second that the humans would hesitate in cutting your head off. They want all of us dead.”

“And who knows?” Craig interjected. “Maybe Balthazar will do us a favor and get rid of the blood-bags – that way, we won’t have to worry about them.” His next words were directed at Kyle, his single eye wide and shining. “And when they cut your little friends’ heads off, I hope I’m there to enjoy the show.”

“Sit down, Tucker,” Gregory said, finally raising his voice.

But it was too late. Because Kyle was already lost in the memory of that day in the public square. The sounds of the vampires around him became the vehement sounds of the crowd around the guillotine. And when Kyle looked down, he didn’t see the table, but rather, his legs covered in ragged old pants. Yards away, he could see the face of Kenny McCormick. The face of someone who knew he was about to die but wasn’t about to beg for mercy. He didn’t even seem distraught, though there was certainly fear in his eyes. The huge man at his side was wearing a black hood. There were black birds in the sky. And for a second, it was completely silent. Kenny raised his head slightly, consumed by the anticipation of his last seconds, the worst seconds. Then, realization flashed in his eyes. Kyle covered his mouth with his hands so he wouldn’t scream. Kenny saw Kyle’s face in the crowd and thought he was the ghost of an old friend who’d come looking for him. Kenny smiled. A tear fell. Shouts echoed through the open space, frightening the birds.

Craig Tucker did not obey the command he’d been given.

Kyle’s foot was already on the table as he propelled himself forward, rising up abruptly, stepping over the decorations that adorned the table as he walked – no, _ran_ – over to Craig Tucker. This all happened in a matter of about a second, the time it took for Kyle to get to Craig and throw himself against his body, consumed by a violent surge of force that had awakened inside him. Kyle didn’t think. There was no time for that. He was driven purely by the animalistic impulse to do harm. He wanted to make that son of a bitch to _bleed_.

There had only been a few times in Kyle’s life where he had felt like this. His heart wasn’t pounding anymore. His eyes were dilated. He wasn’t afraid of getting hurt. The frenzied sounds all around him, echoing throughout the room, all of it seemed very far away.

He fell onto Craig’s soft body, whose back hit the marble floor. By the time the two of them hit the ground, they were so tangled up in each other that it was hard to know where one began and the other ended. As soon as Kyle raised himself up enough, his fists smashed into Craig’s pale face, punching him over and over again, grunting loudly, having completely forgotten how to speak. This bewildered Craig for a few seconds, but nevertheless, Kyle was still fighting a vampire with fifty years’ experience on him. When Craig grabbed Kyle’s fist and used the weight of his body to throw him off, his single eye shining maniacally, Kyle finally regained his senses. His head hit the floor when he fell, and he had no idea what he was doing there.

He waited for the pain to come. He closed his eyes, knowing he didn’t have the time to prepare for it. But nothing happened. When he opened his eyes, Kyle felt the weight of Craig’s body being lifted off of him. And there, cast on the wall by the light of the candles, was that enormous shadow towering over him, tossing Craig to the side as if he were a sack of potatoes. Craig grunted, landing on his elbows and hanging his head, so resigned he was completely silent.

Gregory picked Kyle up by the neck, the same way lions pick up their cubs. It didn’t hurt, not physically, at least; it was just humiliating. There was reproach in Gregory’s touch, a severity to the grip that told Kyle that what he just did was unacceptable and he’d better not do it again. Without letting go of his neck, Gregory led him to the door, his long nails pressing lightly into his skin. Kyle had a little trouble with the first few steps, his legs still wobbly, but Gregory pushed him along, not giving him a choice.

He let go of him only once they had left the room and were out in the hallway, surrounded by its stone walls. Kyle tripped when he was first pushed forward. Gregory turned around and shut the huge door with a forceful bang.

And then, they were alone.

Infuriated, Kyle turned to face him, but what he saw surprised him. He was absolutely convinced he would see disapproval or even rage in Gregory’s eyes. _“Have you gone mad?”_ is what he expected to hear _. “You stupid, reckless child! Did you spend so much time with the wolves that you turned into a savage?”_ Yet Gregory said nothing of the sort. Rather, the stone hallway was completely silent. It wasn’t an oppressive silence; there was nothing like _“Now look at what you’ve done”_ implicit in the air. It was just… The silence of someone who didn’t wish to speak. Because Gregory was looking at him with eyes full of compassion. Not an obvious nor a gentle compassion – Gregory’s face was hard, hesitant, his brow somewhat furrowed and his lips parted, yet his eyes were filled with a sympathy unlike any Kyle had ever seen in him. It was the face of a father seeing his child in pain.

That was what made Kyle fall apart. He didn’t know how to deal with that.

His body reacted instinctively, gutturally, in a way he had no control over. He knew he’d hate himself for letting this happen later. Even so, the tears began to fall. He wasn’t ready to face Gregory’s compassion.

“Kyle…” Gregory murmured in that tone that Kyle hated more than anything, because it was like velvet to his ears.

When Gregory approached him, Kyle’s first impulse was to hang his head to hide his blotchy face and push him away. Apparently, vampires cry just like humans do. They scrunch up their noses, their eyes sting and fill with tears in just the same way. Kyle didn’t push Gregory away very hard, but that was how Gregory wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly, as if nothing in the world could ever hurt him. Again, Kyle pushed him, pounding on his chest violently this time, needing to take his rage out on something. Rage over his own powerlessness, over his dead friend, over who he was. But his arms were constrained by Gregory’s embrace. And after that, if Gregory hadn’t been holding onto him, Kyle would’ve crumbled onto the floor.

Kyle laid his head upon the chest of the man he hated so much and simply cried. He cried in a soft, choked manner, his hands that had just been hitting Gregory now gripping the fabric of his shirt, somewhere between pulling him closer and pushing him away, Kyle didn’t even know anymore. The tears wouldn’t stop.

Placing a gentle hand at the back of Kyle’s head, Gregory laid his chin upon the bed of Kyle’s curls, closing his eyes for a moment. Giving Kyle a chance to calm down.

“You have to put an end to this, Gregory,” Kyle begged. There was no other way to describe it. Kyle didn’t have a shred of pride left, crying like this. His voice was choked and shaky, wrecked with sobs. Kyle kept his eyes shut, not looking at Gregory. “You can’t let this go on any longer.”

 _“You can’t let the King kill everyone I love”_ , was what he was really saying. Gregory knew that. If Christophe hadn’t, in his crude way, told him why Kyle had really come back, then maybe he wouldn’t have understood. Gregory wanted to assure Kyle of everything, to simply nod and say yes, to not have to give a damn about everything else in the world.

Instead, he took Kyle’s wet, splotchy face in his hands, forcing him to raise his head, drying his tears with his hands. For a few seconds, Kyle was too emotionally fragile to turn away from him.

“I’m going to kill him,” Gregory said firmly. “But you have to be patient.”

That was what brought Kyle back to reality; he pushed Gregory away, but the older vampire didn’t even budge. So Kyle took a few steps back, compulsively wiping his tears away. Feeling like he’d just been violated, he walked backwards to get away from Gregory, his steps echoing through the underground corridor.

Kyle turned to run, desperate to get out of here, leaving Gregory alone in front of the door, his arms empty. Only when the boy turned his back on him did Gregory allow his eyes to fill with pain.

* * *

Over the next few days, Kyle spent all his time painting. He painted the flowers in the garden, a huge dark wolf wandering around a lake, the flames of candles, anything else that struck his mood. When his paintbrush didn’t do the job, he dipped his fingers in the paint and glided them over the canvas, marring the entire surface. And he did all this within the privacy of his bedroom, leaving only to eat or go to the library. He took the paths where he’d be less likely to run into other vampires, as they always gave him strange looks, their gazes full of judgment. Unlike that of humans, vampires’ social code didn’t worry about other people’s comfort. Everything vampires were thinking was written all over their faces.

At any rate, Kyle was walking barefoot down the long corridor on the third floor of the castle, en route to the library to return the copy of Madame Bovary he was holding against his chest. He was barefoot, really enjoying the nice, soft feeling of the dark green carpet, passing by a mirror with a gold frame. In it, he saw how messy his hair was and how his eyes were still a bit crusty from sleep, since he’d only woken up about a half hour ago. Night was only just falling, most of the vampires were still sleeping. It was the best time to wander around the castle. Kyle smiled weakly as he thought of the silly myth that vampires didn’t have reflections in mirrors. He continued walking.

There was a vague sound in the distance, so soft he almost thought he was imagining it. It was a nostalgic sound, like someone gently touching his face. As he walked towards the stairs, the sound grew louder, clearer, becoming increasingly real. When he recognized the melody, he smiled weakly, God, it was song from when he was little, but he’d never heard it on piano. He didn’t know what it was called, either. All he knew was that his mother sang it all the time. For a second, he felt like a small child, a stuffed animal in his arms as he followed the soft melody to his mother, going slowly down the hallway, treading so softly he was almost floating. He held the book to his chest with a degree of anguish, his eyes wide with curiosity as he went past the paintings hanging on the walls, their denizens ever watching him.

The sound was coming from the white door at the end of the hallway. Kyle didn’t know what was behind that door, he’d never been in that room. His heart fluttered with excitement as he considered the possibilities. There was a little gap behind the two doors, too narrow for sound to come through. First, Kyle peeked inside. From the little he was able to see, he couldn’t discern exactly how big the room was, but he could tell that it was circular and probably enormous, with lots of space for dancing, and a bright, imperial oak floor. Along the walls were huge windows that went up to the ceiling. He wanted to open the door, but he didn’t know what he’d find inside. So, he decided to move a little to the left to look through the crack at a different angle. He didn’t even notice the intoxicating aroma that was already having such a powerful effect on his body; Kyle still wasn’t a mature enough vampire to be able to pick up on such subtle things.

The piano was white.

At last, he saw him, sitting there at the piano with his back to the door. Kyle could recognize his “Master”, he thought bitterly, even without seeing his face. The gold shade of his hair was very unique, not a strand of it out of place. Tonight, Gregory was wearing black. And he was playing the piano. Every once in a while, Kyle was able to see his hands, those long, agile fingers that moved gracefully, effortlessly, as if Gregory knew the keys by heart.

The melody was much louder now. Kyle closed his eyes, telling himself he should leave. He hadn’t spoken to Gregory since the incident in the meeting room. He wanted things to stay the same between them. But something kept him standing there, outside the door. Maybe it was the chance to watch Gregory without him knowing, to see something he wouldn’t normally see. It was like invading someone else’s privacy. Suddenly he was nervous, his curiosity only increasing. Clutching the book in his hands, he furrowed his brow and stared at his feet, closing his eyes with melancholy. As the gentle music filled his ears, he hoped it would never end.

The whole time he stood there listening to the music, he felt incredibly lonely.

And, when the final notes of the melody were played, he felt sad too. He looked up again, simply watching Gregory for a few seconds, having entirely forgotten to leave. Not knowing what would happen next, he just stood there, protected by the barrier of the door. 

“Did you like it?”

Kyle froze. He expected to hear a second voice, someone else inside the room he hadn’t noticed, but then, Gregory turned around and looked him right in the eye, through the gap between the doors. He seemed genuinely curious, a bastard smile stamped on his face that made Kyle’s face fume. Kyle immediately stepped to the side, but it was too late.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Gregory asked him, letting his fingers glide soundlessly over the keys. “Come, sit.”

Kyle would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t consider walking away and pretending none of this had ever happened, but just the thought of that made him feel like a stupid child. Hesitating, he pushed the door open. It creaked as he cautiously stepped inside the room, which he could now see all of, including the huge crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling. For whatever reason, he closed the door behind him and stared at Gregory’s back for a moment before walking over to him. It was uncomfortable how loud his footsteps were on the hardwood floor, the sound they made filling the silence of the room.

Gregory slid over on the narrow red piano bench. Although their legs weren’t touching, there wasn’t much space between the two of them. The old grand piano was one of the most beautiful things Kyle had ever seen in his life; it was so big that it filled his entire field of vision sitting so close. His gaze was fixed on the glossy black and white keys. Gregory wasn’t looking at Kyle either. They were both facing forward.

“What song was that?” Kyle finally asked. Only then did Gregory look at him, seeming surprised (and pleased) to hear the question.

But a moment later, Gregory furrowed his brow.

“Your face is pale,” he said. “When was the last time you ate?”

Gregory’s long fingers shifted slightly on the keys, as if what he really wanted to do was reach over and touch Kyle’s white cheek, though he didn’t yield to the desire. Being this close was already uncomfortable for the boy, Gregory could tell, given the way Kyle had shoved his hands between his thighs, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Gregory took note of the book Kyle had in his lap.

“A few days ago,” Kyle said. “I’m fine. I’ll drink today.”

Kyle couldn’t resist the urge to look at Gregory’s long, elegant neck, the veins visible through his pale skin, skin that seemed to be made of stone. God, even up close, he still looked like a statue.

A chill went down Kyle’s spine, and he went back to staring at the piano keys.

With that, Gregory began playing a different song, this one much more melancholy than the first.

“It’s early to be awake,” Gregory murmured distractedly, closing his eyes and moving his head gently as he played the notes. As if Kyle weren’t even there. “Have you been having trouble sleeping?”

It was hard for Gregory to keep his eyes off Kyle. There was something about those disheveled red curls, the heat of Kyle’s body, fresh from sleep, his eyes still sleepy – these were the things that made him want to look at him. But that would’ve made Kyle uncomfortable, Gregory knew. So he just played the song, focusing as much of his attention on it as possible.

“No, I just…” Kyle shook his head, no longer wanting to talk. In the end, he just shrugged, not otherwise responding.

For a few seconds, only music filled the room.

“Has anyone been cruel to you?” Gregory suddenly asked, opening his eyes slowly.

“ _‘Cruel’_?”

What a stupid question. Everyone was cruel to him. This whole damn place was cruel. Only Gregory would ask something so stupid.

“After the meeting.” Blue eyes met green. “Has anyone said anything mean to you, or harassed you? If so, I’d appreciate it if you told me.”

“Because that won’t make them hate me even more,” Kyle spat with sarcasm. “Yeah, I’ll just run to Daddy anytime anybody’s ever mean to me. It’s almost like that’s what you want sometimes, for them to never respect me.”

“I don’t want that,” Gregory said serenely, though his fingers did begin playing faster, the melody becoming troubled, as if revealing a piece of Gregory’s soul.

“I don’t belong here,” Kyle said, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music.

The keys were now being hit with excessive force, a harsh sound echoing through the room in the moments before it was filled with absolute silence. Then, in an excruciatingly slow manner, Gregory turned to look at him. Kyle felt like getting up and leaving, but something kept him there.

“Don’t you miss it?” Kyle asked Gregory, so as to resist the urge to leave. “Being mortal? Not being like this?”

“I know you do.”

Kyle opened his mouth to speak, his pale lips uncertain, confused, but no words came out. Almost without realizing it, he delicately ran his fingers over the cover of the book, hanging his head a little.

“I was thinking about what Damien said. About… How I need to accept that this is my home now. Because it’s true – he’s right. I don’t belong here, but this is the only place I’ll ever be accepted. I…” He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible, as if breathing were a crime. Then, he looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t want to look at Gregory, didn’t want to think about who it was that he was revealing a piece of his soul to here, pouring out its contents like blood into a chalice. “I hate you for turning me into a monster, I _hate_ you for taking my life away from me. But the funny thing is… You’re probably the only person left that still loves me.”

His eyes still closed, Kyle took a long, resigned breath, taking an almost erotic pleasure in feeling his lungs fill with air. Upon exhaling, he opened his eyes and stared at the tall ceiling, looking at all its tiny Baroque details, the baby blue and peach colors of the paint, the arcs and white horses.

“That’s not something I can do,” Gregory murmured, sounding incredibly sad. Kyle didn’t want to look and see the expression on his face. “Your humanity, I can’t give it back to you. If I could…” Gregory looked at Kyle’s pale hand, just glancing at it, wanting to touch it. “I would.”

“You didn’t have the right to take it from me in the first place,” Kyle replied harshly, finally getting up.

Using only his left hand, Gregory played the same lullaby as before, this time slowly, on the highest octave. The song hurt Kyle’s heart as he walked away.

“Would you rather I have let you die?” Gregory asked when Kyle was almost at the door, his gaze empty, indifferent, not really looking at anything. At this point, he was playing so slowly that the music was almost dissipating.

“Yes,” Kyle said, his back to Gregory.

“That’s not something you can ask of me.”

Kyle left without closing the door behind him.


End file.
